Losing My Faith
by AnaG
Summary: Turning her back on the last few years, Bella decides to move back to Forks in an attempt to reconnect with the happiness in her past. But where has she been? What will she find? OOC Bella, vamp Edward. R&R.
1. Prologue

To pippapear, for having always been there for me through Static, and accepting to Beta on this one.

And so it begins…

Prologue

_Please know that I regret nothing._

That was my last thought, the words that would be left unsaid. The very last coherent thing to go through my mind before being thrown, with crushing force, from the rooftop of the tall building and onto the street below, completely defenseless against a creature so much more powerful than myself.

Any scream I might have uttered died in my throat, as the burn of hope died in my heart.

It would have been beautiful to have lived such a moment as one often reads about in books, during which time stands still and you review your life, or see the soft colors of the sky like never before, or notices the proverbial speck of glittering dust just before sinking into oblivion whilst the hair swivels around the face like a halo, a promise that there's more to come.

None of those things happened to me.

The movement was much too fast, and what my sight allowed could barely even be qualified as a blur.

Before I could react, before my body could prepare itself, could accept, I connected with the ground, a sickeningly loud sound piercing the air, and I blessed everything for shutting down in that same second.

My senses lasted a little bit longer than my reason, and, even though I couldn't process it, one last thing registered before the air left my lungs.

That pungent smell, that horrid truth.

Blood.


	2. Tied To The Past

**Such a short prologue, but such a positive response! Thanks for the support, everyone!**

**A special thanks to pippapear, my wonderfully patient and dedicated Beta.**

Inside the dark room, sitting on one of the cardboard boxes, I played with the black, unlit cigarette, rolling it between my fingers.

London was still asleep, the eerie grey light that comes right before dawn defining the monstrous pile of buildings I was allowed to see from my window, under the ever cloudy sky.

In autopilot, I got up, maneuvering around the taped up boxes and through the empty apartment, showered and dressed in the appropriate clothes for the day: silk blouse and a graphite pencil skirt I hated wearing. I was much too young for the outfit, but I had to admit it helped me get into character.

I got out, empty stomach and a small travel bag in hand, and got a cab to the corporation where my early meeting would be held.

Once there, I spent three hours listening to things I already knew, dodging traps and giving out orders to men three times my age.

I was tired. I was restless, anxious, suffocating. I wanted nothing more than to shed the horrid skin I was wearing, but that skin didn't define me. I didn't know what was underneath, but unleashing it was not an option, so I kept wearing my cover.

Yet another cab ride was all it took to get me to the airport – and I managed to get enough time before the flight to get into a pair of jeans, scrub away the little makeup I had put on.

The stewardesses looked down on me, as a response to my apparent simplicity and lack of vanity, and I ignored them, preferring the soothing comfort of music to keep me company.

I said one last, guiltless goodbye to the London skyline I'd come to know well and slept through most of the flight, my discomfort magnified by the knowledge that I had yet another plane to catch before reaching Washington.

Overall, it took me nearly twenty-four hours to get there. Surprisingly, the last bit of the trip was the most enjoyable.

I blessed my good decision in getting a rental car and enjoyed the drive to Forks.

The air was humid and static-filled, the sky was overcast, and the impending rain was sure to reach the proportions of a storm.

You'd think this wasn't all that different from London. It was.

The road was framed by tall, moss covered trees and lush ferns, demanding respect for their sheer age. I felt as if I was entering an old temple, and that sense of wonder and fear took hold of me, mixed in with overwhelming nostalgia.

I hadn't committed Forks to memory as well as I thought.

The beautiful expanse of land I saw now had nothing to do with my early childhood sensory recollections – wet and green all over.

I drove through town with little curiosity, seeing it as a scar in the midst of otherwise untouched, beautiful forest, only making sure to memorize the location of the local high school.

As soon as I reached the house, I sucked a breath. Not because I remembered it very well, not because I'd ever lived there long, but because it meant something to me. I could feel it in my bones as I entered.

There was no dust on top of the furniture, nor did the house smell as if it'd been lifeless for as long as it had. I felt guilty, at that moment, for getting people to take care of such things before my arrival. I should have been the one to do it.

The cupboards were filled with food, as was the fridge, and every possible supply I needed for the following month had been looked after. I enjoyed the old feel of everything – from the chipping yellow paint in the kitchen to the old framed pictures, nearly falling apart. The new washer and dryer displeased me in its modern sleekness. It didn't belong.

Maybe I didn't belong, either, but at least I'd find out. At least I'd try to find my roots again.

The nights were very cold and very long, and during my first week I didn't sleep as well as I usually did. The humidity rendered me constantly sick: either coughing or sneezing or both, in a house that didn't extend the comforts I was used to. Yet, I liked it better.

Before long, I couldn't keep myself occupied with unpacking boxes, sent in the meanwhile, or walks through the surrounding woods.

Painfully idle, I forced myself to consider some shopping, and then went through with it while the resolve lasted.

The town was very small and, as a result, everyone knew who I was. Or, rather, everyone knew I was the one no one knew yet. The stranger, the new girl.

I plastered my best "don't bother me" look and shopped for some books and school related material. The high school building loomed, visible from nearly everywhere I went.

Everything was visible, really. Existing in Forks was like living under a magnifying glass.

Fortunately, I must have made my point across, and wasn't approached as I shopped. A blond boy – probably my age or slightly younger – tried to half smile, half muster up something to say, and failed. I was glad for it.

Only as I got back home I realized that I should have been nicer. That I shouldn't have worn the same cloak I'd carried around for the last few months.

Maybe I'd change that in the future.

Begrudgingly, I lived as the days ticked away until the start of school. The physical urge to just lie in bed and not go almost trumped the sense of duty I felt. Almost.

But, less than three weeks after my arrival, I drove my inconspicuous new Ford to school, parked it, and went in, holding my big notebooks. I tried to look back, in the eye, everyone that was ogling me, but there were simply too many for me to succeed.

Instead, I examined the parking lot, and got pretty annoyed as I found out that my car was actually pretty conspicuous. Aside from a sleek looking Volvo parked on the other side of the lot, the student body of Forks seemed to prefer used cars.

I allowed the chattering mass of teenagers to engulf me, and made no move to get to know any of them, focusing instead on finding my first period classroom instead.

I sat on the chair, frowning at it being too small for any decent sized adult, and crossed my arms on top of my chest, tipping my chair back the slightest bit.

It was either that or get the pack of cigarettes resting inside my bag, but I figured my new teacher wouldn't care much for the latter.

I was seated at the furthest table from the door, alone, giving me a wonderful point of observation towards my fellow students.

My presence was very much noted, with that horror that accompanies the excitement of something totally new. I was ogled at, commented, dissected. My shoes were inspected, my clothes, my hair, my notebooks. A pair of girls to the right didn't even bother trying to pass off their attention as sympathy.

The teacher was stoically trying to discuss the syllabus. He was met with the lack of attention and cooperation of a group of people otherwise engaged.

Mid class, I drowned it all out, disappointed.

I toyed with the piece of scarlet silk I'd tied to my schoolbag, a token of good luck given to me by a friend, so long ago. I was not superstitious; I wore it not because I believed, but because there was something in the beliefs of others that fascinated me. I wish I could be just as credulous in something, anything.

A religion. A superstition. Even the wholly trinity of envying, lusting and feasting.

I'd lived too much.

The little sample of barely contained curiosity was proof enough.

The bell rang, and my first class ended. I wasn't used to this – as, previously, I was half home-schooled, half self-taught – and it took me a little while to get my bearings.

The blonde boy from the supermarket came up to me, and I suppressed a groan.

"Hi, I'm Mike, Mike Newton," he finally said, trying on a smile that was meant to be charming. Fidgeting with his hands ruined the effect, though.

"Hello, Mike. I'm Bella," I answered, in my best behavior. _Don't bite the guy's head off, be nice._

"Looks like we have History together," he smiled, seemingly truly happy about it. "I could trade out back to sit with you, if you want…"

"Oh, that's really unnecessary," I cut, and then stopped myself. "It's just that I'm usually quiet and focused, so you'd probably feel alone."

He smiled. _Nice save._

"Yeah, I get it, no problem. Bella, this is Jessica Stanley," he introduced, and I fought back a frown. He'd known me for two minutes, but had already placed himself in charge of my social development.

The chirping girl launched herself in a whirlwind of questions – some of which she answered herself – and gave out more information than I could handle about my classmates, most of which should have been private.

_Hello, high school gossip girl._

With a smile hanging by a thread, I accepted Mike's help in finding my new class. More people introduced themselves to me, including Eric Yorkie and Tyler Crowley, both of which Mike seemed to feel threatened by.

By the time second period started, I had a massive headache.

The overly friendly display continued up until lunch time, when I decided to try my chances with finding the cafeteria myself and dodged Newton as well as I could.

I found a nice table to the side and put my bag there, getting my wallet out. I noticed then that the piece of silk was gone.

I searched for it under the table, and inside the bag, but it was nowhere to be found. I'd walked a great deal during the morning, it could have fallen anywhere.

Mourning the loss of something that had accompanied me for so long, I went to stand in line for food I didn't particularly crave.

That's when I spotted them for the first time.

Sitting at a corner table, the five were talking amidst themselves over their forgotten trays laden with lunch. All of them different, peculiar, all of them so much the same.

I'd seen so many different faces, of so many different origins, and yet I'd never seen anyone quite like them.

I registered their distinguishable characteristics, the things that separated them and drew them together.

But out of them stood out one boy, slim and grave, seemingly lost in thought.

There would be many ways to describe him but the best I could find – and the corner of my lips betrayed me as I thought it – was _devastating._ It couldn't even be analyzed, be classified. I'd be content with just observing him, but something told me I'd, at least, try to start a conversation, someday.

I was still smiling as I approached my table, but my horrified gasp cut right through my musings as I saw what others had done.

Two other tables had been pushed against it, and the whole gang – Mike, Jessica, and some I'd met, others I haven't, were happily eating their lunch. Invading my space, denying my privacy.

"Hey, Bella! Nice going, saving us a table."

I just took a deep breath, nodded and sat, pushing the food away and ignoring the people around me, having had my share of human interaction for the day.

"What's Edward Cullen doing?"

I picked up the fragment of conversation and looked up from my book. Probably because of the tone Jessica used, more than anything else. Maybe because the name was curious.

I was left even more intrigued to see the reddish haired boy walking to our table, my lost piece of silk in his hand. He'd found it.

Smiling in earnest, I stood up, my hair spilling over my shoulder as I maneuvered my way to reach him.

He stopped, and our eyes locked.

His – an iridescent shade of golden, so much more complex, _animated_, than any I had ever seen – were wide and burning into mine, even as far away as he was. I was also frozen, in shock of his expression, of the flickering emotions of them, the power they held.

For seconds, minutes – _hours?_ – we stood in front of each other, attracting everyone's attention as he breathed a lungful of air he didn't let go of.

And then, just like that, he turned and left, dropping the scarlet strand to the floor. I watched his back as he rushed out of the cafeteria, and one of the girls from his table – the little one – followed him.

Finally able to move again, I got the piece of silk and went back to my seat at the table, wishing, now more than ever, that I was alone.

I was asked if I knew him. I did not.

I was asked if I knew what it was about. Again, no.

My lack of interesting information did nothing to qualm the whispers that now leapt, from table to table, all the way round the cafeteria.

I held the piece of silk, like solid water between my fingers, and observed his table for a moment.

Jessica was telling anyone who'd hear her that they were all adoptive siblings, notorious for being detached and keeping to themselves. That they were always strange, but that this was a new degree of it – one that involved interaction.

I found myself replaying it my head, watching the stiff stances of the siblings that stayed, just for a little while longer, before filtering out gracefully.

It couldn't be, and yet I'd seen it.

I could see it as clearly as if he was still standing in front of me, the scarlet material in his hand, meant for me.

I was sure that he'd hated me in that moment. Why? Why had I earned such a dreadful response?

And how?

I had no faith in superstitions, no faith in omens, but that I'd seen.

I'd seen it as he looked back at me, and there was no denying it. No mistake.

_His golden eyes had turned pitch black. Murky, dead, hateful eyes._

I tied the piece of silk back in its place and left the cafeteria, still lost in thought.

_Strange, indeed._


	3. The Living Dead In Biology

**A big thanks to pippapear, as always, for her work and patience!**

**Enjoy ;)**

_Three years ago_

The sun was almost setting over the river Yamuna, and I'd spent one of the greatest afternoons of my life.

The heat was still excruciating, even as late as it was, and there was no breeze to stir the air, which was good. I wasn't quite sure what odors would rise from the polluted water and infest the air.

Happily sweaty, and grinning ear to ear, I watched as Lakshmi walked to me and sat by my side, envying her grace and skin color, that made her blend so well.

"It's so beautiful," I whispered. She smiled.

I'd been in India for fourteen days, and visiting the Taj Mahal had been the highlight of the trip – I very much doubted anything could trump it.

Charlie called out, waving from a distance, and I waved back. Camera strapped to his neck, he took pictures of the beautiful monument from every possible angle. He looked almost comical in his big shorts and t-shirt, as tanned as he was. I, on the other hand, was still musing over its history, that my Indian friend had so kindly shared.

"Will you be leaving early tomorrow?" she asked, and my sad look must have answered her question.

She toyed with her thick, black braid of shiny hair, swiveling it over her shoulder and straightening her long clothes, the same shade of our sunset. She looked like a princess sitting in the mud that covered the river margin.

Then, she took one piece of scarlet silk out of her pocket and tied it around my wrist, with a loose bow that told me it was not meant to be there forever.

"For good luck and a safe journey back home," she explained.

The passage of time and briefness of my visit did not escape either of us.

We were both fifteen years old at the time, and, as I visited New Delhi, we'd met each other in a market. She showed me the small house her family shared, and so many things the tourists never saw, or never noticed.

She told me of her religion, of her culture, of the significance of her name. She told me of her marriage, already arranged, and I swallowed back both my surprise and my western mentality at her account of her settled future. The honor it was to her and her family to be accepted into such a rich household, the responsibilities she would try to act out as best as she possibly could.

I did not judge her, nor did I question her fate. As much as I struggled with it, I could not use my own beliefs as a lens through which to see hers.

"You must see it tomorrow morning, before you go. If you wake up a little before dawn, there will be time. Right now, the Taj is yellow; but tomorrow morning it shall be pink, and purple."

Her voice wasn't dry, clinical; it held the passion for her land.

"I'll write," I promised.

"Please do, even if just once. Send me a picture of your home, will you?"

"I will."

Silence enveloped us, and I was still looking at the monument, no longer able to see Charlie, who had probably continued his journey around the monument. I wiped my forehead, feeling the grime that the sweat and dust had created.

"You're fascinated by it, and yet, you cannot understand," she stated, fingering what was bothering me.

"He loved her enough to build this for her, they had fourteen children together, but…" I trailed off. "She was _one_ _of his wives_, and they probably didn't even want to get married in the first place."

Immediately, I knew I struck a nerve.

"They loved each other, you can see and touch the proof of that."

"And yet, it wasn't their choice. I'm not criticizing you, Lakshmi, nor do I wish to be disrespectful… It's the concept of seeing my will taken away that scares me more than anything. But I do want you to be happy."

My friend smiled.

"I know. But if you lived in India, you'd understand. My family doesn't want to take my will away, they only wish what's best for me. And, most of the time, arranged marriages do succeed, through work," she responded, the doctrine she'd been raised with showing itself through her words. It was as deep inside her as her blood. "If you knew this was the way things worked ever since you were born, if everyone you know acted the same way, if all your friends were going through the same, it would be easier."

Part pressure, part convention. She was just doing what was expected from her, like the good daughter she was, the good woman she wanted to become.

"I wish you luck as well, Lakshmi. I wish that he loves you enough to build a Taj for you."

"Hopefully while I'm still alive," she laughed, and we knew we're out of time. It was already dark.

~*~

I woke up, in a frenzy of cold and much too hot, heavy head and shaking limbs, only to shuffle my way to the bathroom. I retched, whimpering, the sounds bouncing off the tile walls and mocking me.

_Can't even keep a cup of tea down._

I'd been under the weather ever since I arrived, but the last two days had been hell. The flu took over my life, and I was pretty sure that, if I did weigh myself, I'd notice the difference.

I walked back to my room, still shaking, to get my second change of pajamas of the night, hoping a shower would make me feel a little more human.

Living alone can be wonderful. No schedules, no one to answer to, all the naked dancing your feet can take, and drinking milk out of the carton at 5 a.m., completely free of guilt.

But those who are not around to ask questions aren't there to worry about you, either. You miss the schedules because they gave you stability. You miss the conversations you don't have.

Ignoring that line of thought, I gathered my clothes and noticed the clock. It was past 7 a.m., even if the clouds disguised the rising sun, misleading me into thinking it was earlier.

I took one glance at my notebooks, the heaviness of hours sitting and taking notes wearing me down already, and made a quick decision.

This Monday would be spent in bed.

Both that resolution and my shower helped, and I turned in for a few hours of restful, undisturbed sleep.

My vegetarian lunch, designed not to offend my sensitive stomach, stayed down as I perused my recently filled bookshelves, trying to settle on something to read. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle beckoned to me, and I gave in, stretching myself on the couch.

I wondered what the kids were doing at school, and then imagined what my day would had been like, had I bothered to show up.

Mike Newton would have been disgustingly helpful, leading the conversation and dropping a couple of lines I was supposed to bat my eyelashes at.

Jessica Stanley would bare her claws – acrylic ones, of course – and swoon over Mike's antics, even from a distance.

I'd talk a little with Angela, seemingly the only sane human being around, mostly about pending homework.

I'd try to evade personal questions, try not to act bored as the teachers prattled on about things I already knew.

I'd also turn to check out the table that drew my attention like no other, even if I knew I'd never sit by it, only to be presented with the same scene: four Cullens, talking among themselves, ignoring their food, naturally standing out, yet trying to remain invisible.

The fifth hadn't shown up since my first day of school.

I was disappointed as I entered Biology – not to find that he was my lab partner, as my classmates helpfully supplied – but to find him gone. I'd sat alone all week.

I wasn't sure if I resented him for leaving, if I was worried about the cause, or was just in awe of myself for even caring. But maybe the book in my hands supplied the answer: I'd always loved a good mystery.

Lakshmi's strand of scarlet silk was tied to my wrist; a comforting little reminder of sunnier days to get me through the cold and the flu. In her memory, I took my time making a bowl of curry for dinner.

Whether it had been the memories, the curry, or the rest, I felt restored as I woke up, the following day. I was horrified to see that it had snowed during the night – and gritted my teeth thinking about the slippery roads.

I wanted to crawl back in bed. I wanted to give up.

I couldn't.

I forced myself to leave the house and make my sluggish way to school, chastising myself half of the time for even considering skipping class yet again. The other half was spent considering all the reasons and opportunities I had not to go.

I did make it.

Angela seemed genuinely happy to see me, and even one of the Cullen sisters – Alice, I was told – smiled as I arrived, a gesture I returned with ease.

At least, she didn't share her brother's opinion of me, whatever that might be.

My day progressed naturally, and when lunch came I decided on a light salad. By then, I'd learnt to smother my natural instincts for isolation and nursed my tray all the way to Newton's table. Thankfully, he was too distracted by Jessica to notice my arrival.

I chanced a look at the Cullen table, expecting to see the four elements I'd observed so many times, but was surprised to see their brother was back.

I frowned, immediately averting my eyes. During the second I had to observe him, he seemed the picture perfect of happiness; traces of snow on his hair and the light mood between the brothers told me they'd probably been playing around outside.

The doubt and the confusion returned.

Why had he reacted that way? Never mind the physical response I earned – as fascinating as that might be –, I was worried about his reaction. The way he was repulsed by me was personal. I knew he had never reacted this way before around the other kids.

So, what was it about me?

What would Biology be like?

Determined to find out, I was the first in the door as it opened, wanting to have the home field advantage. Technically, the field was his – as he'd sat at that table for much longer than me – but that was of no consequence. Getting in and seeing me there would give him time to react and give me the time I needed to observe it.

I took out one of the long black cigarettes and rolled it between my fingers, an instinctive gesture that came with the anxiety, the only crack on my perfectly calm façade.

Mr. Banner, tedious and bored as always, came in and started the class, all the students present but one. Just as I felt sure that he wouldn't show up yet again, the door swung open, and a quiet excuse could be heard. I chucked the mashed up cigarette into my bag.

Gracefully dodging the chairs, he made his way to our table, looking me in the eye, his lips a tight line.

_He looks nervous. Not furious, just on edge._

I made sure to clear up his side of the table and pretended to take careful notes with my unoccupied hand, trying to put him at ease, not even sparing him a glance.

"Hi."

I succumbed to his calling, and looked into his eyes for the second time in my life.

They were molten, stirring gold, as bright – or brighter – than they were at the beginning of our first encounter. That fact soothed me.

"Hi."

_Well, this is civil._

His confidence seemed to increase as I smiled my answer, and his next words rolled out of his mouth in a much more relaxed fashion:

"I didn't really get a chance to introduce myself last week… I'm Edward Cullen."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Bella," I replied in all honesty, racking my brain for something polite and friendly to say. "Thank you for getting this back to me, it's got somewhat of a sentimental value," I edged, pointing to the little scarlet silk strand, tied to my bag.

"It was no problem."

His tight smirk showed just how uncomfortable he was at being reminded of the incident at the cafeteria. I exhaled and turned to get some notes down, trying to repress a twinge of sadness at my own crudeness.

_Well, Edward Cullen, I certainly enjoyed hearing your voice._

"Are you alright?" he asked, unexpectedly, and I turned again, confused. Sensing it, he explained further: "You didn't show up yesterday."

_So we're having a conversation. I can do that._

"Right. It was just the flu, I'm feeling better, thanks. How about you?"

"Me?" he retorted, his face going blank.

"You didn't show up either, for a week."

_Touché._

"I wasn't feeling like myself either," he retorted, a small, painful smirk playing on his lips.

I knew then he wasn't telling me everything, but my attention was diverted as I heard the teacher call my name.

"Yes, Mr. Banner?"

"Can you tell me the four classes of living beings responsible for infections?"

The answer came effortlessly enough.

"Bacteria, fungi, parasites and viruses. Even if viruses can't really be qualified as living."

Mr. Banner's eyes actually twinkled.

"Oh, really? And why is that?"

I suppressed a chuckle, but my lips still quirked up in amusement.

"They walk the line between the dead and the living, as the little cells are able to crystallize and remain that way indefinitely, until the means turn favorable for their proliferation. When that happens, they get active again."

The teacher crossed his arms over his chest, content.

"How would you classify them, then?"

I could feel eyes on me as I answered:

"Probably, as Biology's living dead."

Mr. Banner smiled narrowing his eyes at my little piece of sarcasm, and earned my respect as he steered away from the syllabus to give us some notions on viruses. The attention level of the class was peaked, but not my own.

As I focused back on Edward, I noticed his mood had shifted yet again – and that his chair was the furthest away possible from my own, his white hands balled up in fists. His white mask of concentration shut me out.

It stayed that way until we were dismissed, and he left without a goodbye.

As far as I was concerned, it was yet to be determined if the mystery this boy presented was worth the effort.


	4. Got Bitten

**As always, a warm thank you to pippapear for her dedication. I don't deserve her ;)**

**Enjoy!**

_Two years ago_

The night was humid, but it was nice out; there was too much light, too much life, it seemed, to be stuffed away in some hotel room.

High on the sights of Paris, I strolled around the beautifully kept houses, just outside the city, holding Sebastien's hand.

He was telling me of funny episodes past at the little coffee shop he worked at – our laughter piercing the air the only interruption to his accounts – when, suddenly, he stopped walking.

"What is it?" I asked.

He was already perching himself up on the outside walls of a large mansion, peeking over the walls. There were no lights on, but that wasn't saying much, that late at night.

"Ah, they have a pool. Come on, let's take a look inside."

Like a limber black cat, he jumped onto the top of the walls, using the branches as leverage.

"Are you mad?!" I hissed, looking up and down the street in panic. "That's private property!"

"Come on, _ma Belle_! There's no one there, it's hardly a crime to walk around for a couple of minutes!"

The toothy grin he flashed me only served to deepen my scowl.

"No! Absolutely not! And it is a crime, I should know, I'm the chief of police's daughter!"

He just clacked his tongue, insolent, and moved to swing one leg over the wall.

"I'm going in. Are you really letting me go in alone?"

"_Tu es un fou_," I muttered, searching for his hand in front of me and using the rough finishing of the walls to get me up.

Ten seconds and a couple of scratches later, we were inside.

The garden occupied only the eastern side of the property; the pool was to the right and out the back were neatly stacked chairs and a table, an empty children's pool beside it. Little flowers, colorful even in the dim light that allowed our clandestine visit, sprung from stony circles cut on the grass.

But the eye was instantly drawn to the fountain, set right in the middle of the sizeable piece of land.

It was unlit, reflecting only the moon and the street lamps, and I found it all the more beautiful for it.

The statue at its center, dipping its toes in the water, was a large cherub-like boy, with puffy cheeks and curly hair. In both his hands was the bowl from which the water sprang.

"I told you it would be fine," Sebastien reinforced, even if only after he took his time to make sure we were alone.

Apparently, he'd spoken too soon.

Not far away, I heard rustling metal, like the clattering of chains.

"Sebastien_?"_

"_Oui?"_

"Do you know if they have any pets?"

No sooner had I whispered my question, two massive dogs came running from the back of the house, barking madly.

To this day, I have not a clue as to their breeds. My brain was otherwise engaged, calculating my odds of surviving the meeting unscathed.

"_Ah, merde!_"

The situation was beyond the need for translation.

A true athlete, he reached the hedges first, stretching down a hand for me to grab.

I wasn't able to.

My shriek cut through the air as I felt the canine teeth tearing through the skin of my left hand.

Sebastien yelled expletives to the dogs, trying to chase them away as he jumped back down to act as a shield, giving me a chance to escape.

I was too shell shocked to introduce the two animals to some American adjectives.

When I finally fell, completely ungracefully and very relieved, onto the deserted street, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Sebastien was right behind me, holding his own bitten hand; we ran for a couple of blocks before the adrenaline wore off, wearing stupid grins over our small victory.

I gave him a thankful, remorseful smile, and moved to assess the damage under a street lamp, the scent hitting me and making my stomach churn. I kept it together.

"Ah, it's nothing…" he insisted, between gritted teeth.

I disagreed.

"Yours look deeper. If only I'd been faster…"

"You American girls eat too many hamburgers!" he stated, shaking his head, and my aggravation boiled over.

"Had it not been for your French criminal tendencies, Monsieur, we wouldn't have had to face those two hell hounds!"

"But you have to admit it was fun," he countered. "The thrill of the chase!"

I cackled.

"I really don't think that applies if you're the one being chased."

We walked back to the coffee shop, where we could clean the wounds and use the first aid kit. Ignoring the majestic wood paneled walls and _chic_ patrons, we took turns bandaging each other and joked around about being blood siblings from then on.

He ordered our drinks, as every woman present in that shop turned to take a look at him. I couldn't blame them.

With a tall frame and narrow waist, he towered over most of the standing patrons, his jet black hair and dark blue eyes only adding charm to his infectious smile.

_Quite the loss to womankind._

Sitting back down, he told me the story of how he left school and decided to come to Paris, trying his luck in the big city. He had the gift of a true storyteller, so I was pleased to sit back and enjoy – were it through laughs, pity or horror – his account.

"You're definitely a creature of the city," I agreed.

He just bobbed his head.

Another _garçon_, probably not much older, with brown hair and pleasant features, served our decaf. Sebastien made sure to thank him for the courtesy, and kept on eyeing him for a while after.

I smiled.

"I thought you said you came to Paris looking for a future and a love to last you a lifetime."

He smiled back, conspiratorially.

"I am."

"_That,"_ I gestured, tipping my head in the general direction of his attractive co-worker, "won't last you a lifetime."

"Ah, _ma Belle_," he grinned, his white teeth gleaming. "One must enjoy the pleasures of lust like a lion, but love once and forever like a parrot."

"That's probably where the problem lies," I replied, and my friend turned to me, his attention piqued. "Parrots are much harder to come across."

"But it's fitting. You can enjoy the company of many lions… But parrots, you need but one."

We toasted with our drinks to another night in the City of Lights.

~*~

I was curious.

That was probably the only reason why I stayed, and I knew just how random and illogical that was.

The night before, I'd taken a long, hard look into my routine, and saw it for what it was.

Empty.

Charlie always told me life needed a purpose besides just living it.

But what could I possibly want to do? Where could I possibly want to go?

I thought that, maybe, Forks held the magic key to some door left unopened, that just by coming back I'd feel at home.

But something was missing. Something I couldn't replace, something I couldn't even name – that I didn't dare name.

Yet, I decided to stay.

I stayed because I promised my father I'd go through, at least, one year of High School before going to college.

That was the reason I wanted to admit to.

But, if I was going to be honest, I could leave Forks and go to High School in any American state - any English speaking country, at that. I just didn't want to turn my back on the big question mark Edward Cullen represented.

I was just as appalled as the next person at the fact that I was staying because I was intrigued by a boy I didn't even know. I wasn't even sure _he _wanted to know _me._

I was staying because I was fascinated by his mannerisms, his peculiar shade of skin, his chameleon eyes, the beautiful script that flowed from his wrist. I was staying because I hadn't been that captivated by anyone or anything in what seemed like a lifetime.

Anyways, I was staying.

I called my landlord and gave notice. I was giving up my old London apartment. No safety net; Forks was permanent, so I'd better start acting like it.

Boxes filled with belongings left behind, broken pieces of my past, were shipped to a nameless storage facility. A sad ending for so few, but such wonderful years.

As I thought it over, Newton touched my shoulder.

"Bella? You there? I was talking."

He seemed nervous and out of place when addressing me, a stark contrast with the confidence shown around others. He was an athlete, an average student, above average looks. High school could be nothing but a sweet experience to him, and yet, here he was, shifting, about to break into a sweat.

Aren't humans gluttons for punishment?

"I'm sorry, Mike, I wasn't. Haven't been sleeping decently, I guess. What were you saying?"

He grinned, and I tried to keep my grimace tucked away in the shadows. We'd never cross the line beyond friendly territory, but he didn't know it yet.

"A bunch of us are taking a trip down to the beach, next weekend. It's supposed to be sunny."

I smiled, snippets of childhood memories coming back to me in a flood.

"La Push… I remember it."

Mike looked confused.

"You've been down there already?"

My slip-up didn't go unnoticed, but he was gullible enough to take my words for their worth:

"I went for a walk there when I first moved in. I'll tell you what, if the weather holds up, I'll join."

"That's great!" he relied, excitedly. "Biology is about to start, I'll walk you in."

"You go ahead, I'm sitting this one out."

He looked confused.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. Don't worry."

He turned to leave, and peeked over his shoulder, still a bit shell shocked. Even I was aware I was giving out mixed messages. Maybe during the beach excursion I'd break it to him.

I imagined the kicked puppy eyes he'd give me and winced.

Slowly, the loud teenagers flowed into their classrooms and the quarter was left empty and silent.

I considered going home, but it was still bright out, and the wind was scarce – such a rare combination in Forks. The little wooden bench was actually nice to sit on. I closed my eyes and I could hear echoes of lectures, the scraping of chairs being pulled around, not very far away.

But all around me, it was silent.

I searched my backpack for a pencil and a clean sheet of paper and sighed, leaning back. It had been so long.

I started doodling aimlessly, just enjoying the strain on my wrist, the light scraping sound. I became totally absorbed and crossed my legs, Indian style, using my knees as support for my elbows and resting a folder on my legs, atop which I could draw.

The shapes started coming together, and I ultimately felt sorry for the drawing I'd be leaving unfinished.

A lonely parrot.

"Skipping Biology?"

The unmistakable voice reached my ears and I looked up, stunned at not having heard his approach, even immersed in virtual silence.

In front of me, Edward Cullen smiled, benevolently, carefully, artfully.

Devastatingly.

_Stop being silly and answer the question._

"Yes; they're blood-typing today."

For a second, something dark flitted through his eyes. It reminded me of that first encounter in the cafeteria.

"Why wouldn't you go?" he asked, his voice tortured.

"I already know my blood type. The smell would make me sick, regardless," I explained.

"Humans can't smell blood," he frowned, coming to sit beside me.

I pursed my lips, stowing away my things to buy some time.

He was toying with me.

Every single school day, he sat beside me during Biology, looking like he'd rather be shoveling manure at the nearest farm. We talked very little – usually, just the polite comment and necessary conversation between two lab partners.

And here he was, actually making conversation when he could have just walked past me.

Suddenly, it became painfully clear.

Mike Newton was, even if not by my choice, my puppy to kick. I was Edward's.

Only it wasn't the same. The interest I had in him wasn't the same. My eyes didn't shift colors with my moods. I didn't hate people for no apparent reason, and then decide to be civil.

I was curious. And I had all the time in the world to see just how much he'd let me find out.

"I can smell it," I countered, finally answering him. "It's rust and salt, warm and viscous, dense and complex."

When I turned to see his reaction, he looked a little dreamy. I expected some sort of snarky rebuttal, but it didn't come.

"Won't your parents scold you for it?" he asked, after quietly clearing his throat.

My face hardened. I could feel it, and did nothing to stop it, because it would be futile. Still, he didn't deserve, at this point, to be the target of my wrath. So I just breathed my response.

"That's the beauty of living alone."

That rattled him.

"How can you… You shouldn't say that to someone who is practically a stranger, you know?" he scolded, immediately fulfilling the role of parent.

He was concerned, and yet he was patronizing. It was always one step forward, one step back. The man was infuriating.

And, if I wanted to admit it, he was right. He was practically a stranger.

"Don't worry, I'm not that reckless," I assured him, just for the sake of seeing him calm down. "How about you? What's your excuse?"

"My sister took the car to do some shopping, so I'm stranded. I thought I'd leave early and walk home."

_And here you are, talking to me instead._

I felt tempted to level the field and ask him if his parents wouldn't mind; but, if there was any degree of truth to the rumors going around about his family, I guessed he'd appreciate the privacy.

So I went for small talk instead.

"Let me guess; the tall, blonde one?"

I took a guess because she seemed the type. He smiled.

"The short, spiky-haired one."

"Alice."

He nodded. Silence fell between us, not a void; we surrendered to our thoughts.

My mind was going a mile a minute, trying to collect all the bits and pieces, but I truly didn't want to analyze it. Enjoying the company was so much better.

Maybe that's where the idea came from.

"I could give you a ride home."

My proposal hung in the damp air.

I wasn't used to putting myself out there, taking risks.

But there was some unknown joy in it, in the mere act of taking the gamble.

Of setting myself up to be bitten.


	5. Roadtrips and Crossroads

**A warm thank you to all my readers, and a special shout out for my Static lovers for embarking on this new journey with me.**

**And, of course, to pippapear. For everything!**

His answer came like dripping water falling off an old, rusty faucet – drop by drop, clear and clearly well studied.

I drank them up as though I was parched.

"I don't think that would be the responsible thing for me to do."

I couldn't understand the underlining tone, but then it came back to me – he'd accused me of being reckless once before.

"With me being a stranger, it certainly wouldn't," I acquiesced.

I paused, and he shifted his books onto his lap, probably ready to hear some variation of a goodbye. I meant to come up with one as, instead, the words burst out of my mouth:

"I only drive a stick shift, I love painting, I don't eat any cheese but mozzarella, I feel naked without a watch on my wrist and I hate frilly things."

I wasn't sure which one of us was more surprised. His usually studied and introspective expression cracked, the verbal blow leaving him expressionless for two seconds solid, before blinking.

Then, he laughed.

It was a deep, cascading sound. It reminded me of rain hitting the roof while I stood before my old fireplace. I smiled in return, because it couldn't be helped. It was infectious.

"You only drive a stick shift?"

It was his turn to surprise me. I gave him five details about myself, and most people would ask about the frills or the cheese.

He went for the stick shift.

"It's how I learned how to drive. I don't like automatics; it doesn't feel like I'm in control."

His serious demeanor returned at my words, and his reply was veiled again:

"I know how uncomfortable that can be."

"Well, I'm heading home," I stated, getting up and searching him for any indication that he wanted to come. "And you can't call me a stranger anymore," I added, for good measure.

He smirked, and at least I'd accomplished that. I wasn't sure why his reactions, his company – _he_ was so important to me. It was unquestionable, and unnerving.

"Alright," he finally answered, and stood up, breathing in deeply several times as we walked side by side.

He could have been acting like he was about to get in the ring with a heavy weight champion, but I didn't mind; for all his indecision, he'd said yes.

I was pretty sure no one saw us leave, and that pleased me somewhat . Forks wasn't rich on entertainment, but that was no excuse to get your life piqued apart and dissected.

There were enough rumors about myself and his family floating around. No need to mix the two up, or Jessica Stanley's little gossipy heart might give out in exhaustion.

We reached the car, and I observed him from the corner of my eye, as he took in my brand new Ford.

"It's no Volvo," I hedged, and the smirk was back. I was trying to put him at ease, even if I felt the need to grab one of my thin black cigarettes and mash it up between my fingers.

The seats were comfortable and, as soon as I turned the key in the ignition, blissfully heated air engulfed us. Quietly, he explained where he lived, and I was surprised as I realized that it was located at the fringes of town, almost out of Forks.

"My mother designed the place, and we all enjoy the quiet and privacy," he explained, as I pointed that out. "You have to take a right next."

I smiled, looking him in the eye for a second.

"I can find it, don't worry."

"Or you can just drive home and I'll walk from there. It would be fine," he added, increasingly agitated.

"That's okay, it's not that far."

He let the silence drag on, looking out the window, before forming the question:

"Where do you live, exactly?"

"The old chief of police's house." _Which is fitting, as I'm his daughter_. I assumed he'd recognize it, as I'd heard most of the other students refer to it as such.

He nodded, and continued to look out the window, sightless. I could see his reflection in the glass.

"Do you want me to open the window?" I asked, as it was a little stifling inside the car.

"No, that's…" he turned, and suddenly seemed to wake up with a start: "Slow down! You'll get yourself killed!"

"Why, what's wrong?" I asked, immediately checking the road and our surroundings. Everything was peaceful and quiet, the blur of green accompanying our progress.

"You're going over the speed limit!"

I had to suppress the urge to laugh.

"Just barely, and the road isn't even wet… But, of course I'll slow down," I added, quickly, as his distressed stance turned rigid. He was livid.

I maneuvered the car just under the speed limit and checked my passenger for any signs of a second nervous meltdown. But my hand seemed to have caught his attention.

"Is that… A scar of a bite?" he asked.

Unnecessarily, I snuck a glance of my left hand, at the time grasping the steering wheel. Just above the thumb, you could make out the silver scar tissue of small puncture wounds, forming a distinctive crown pattern.

"Yes, I was bitten a couple of years back."

He inhaled sharply, eyes still trained on my hand, and I saw it again. His eyes were much darker than the stirring gold I'd looked into earlier.

"You were bitten."

I just nodded in response to his statement, suddenly at a miss as to what had provoked the reaction.

"I was with this friend of mine, Sebastien, and our recklessness ended up leaving its mark," I explained.

"Reckless seems to apply to you often. So you left a boyfriend back in the UK?"

The tone he used was one of accusation, and I had to fight the urge to shut myself off or become defensive.

"How do you know I used to live in the UK?" I asked, unable to conceal the shock.

"Your voice. Sometimes, the slightest hint of an accent comes through."

"No, it doesn't," I countered, a little offended, and still suspicious. I had always thought of myself as an American, and I'd never considered just how my prolonged stay abroad could have affected my pronunciation.

"How else would I know?" he countered, shrugging.

"Is this it?" I asked, seeing a small entrance at the side of the road. I could had driven past it a hundred times before and never notice it; the break in the trees was just open enough for a car, and the gravel path was the only indicator that it was used at all.

"Yes. You can just… leave me here. The house isn't much farther ahead."

I stopped by the side of the road, trying to discern the contours of the building through the vegetation. I couldn't see any, but I wouldn't push it. Offering help was one thing – forcing my presence on his family's property was another entirely.

He observed me, hand on the door handle, and I wanted to grasp the seconds as he hesitated.

Did he have something to say?

"Thank you for the ride," he finally stated, tipping his head forward the slightest bit. I smiled at the gentlemanly gesture.

"Thank you for the company."

My answer was entirely too honest.

Just after he stepped out of the car, out of the grasp of my thirsty eyes and inquisitive mind, his voice froze me.

"Bella?"

I looked up to see his face, completely enamored with that one word his lips formed. It was crazy, even for me, but I found myself thinking one thing.

_Say it again._

He didn't. He used his hands to steady himself on the door frame and bent forward, closing the distance between us, before stating:

"I only drive stick shifts, I love playing the piano, I don't eat any kind of cheese, I never wear a watch, and I don't think my company will ever do you any good."

I was still taking in his words as he retreated, closing the door behind him. I watched the back of his black jeans and waterproof coat as he crossed the tree line. Finally able to focus, I did a U-turn and drove myself home.

His words echoed in my ears for days, and I could make no real sense of them.

Was it simply a gentle way to put distance between us?

I couldn't believe it. Experience told me it was likely, but his eyes spoke to me once again, his sloped shoulders, his smooth yet strained voice. I could sense his concern and his plea for understanding.

Did he believe himself to be a bad influence?

Hadn't he worked through whatever made him react so strangely to me in the cafeteria? It had certainly come across as the exception in his otherwise friendly, if distant, behavior.

I wanted to find a way to contradict him, to make him believe otherwise – because I couldn't find it in me to ignore him. Or to disregard his words. As illogical as it was to believe that any real harm could come to me from his presence.

So I allowed the distance he wanted. During Biology, I drew on the corners of my notebook, trying to distract myself. I choked any and every thread of conversation my mind came up with, daring to look at him once in a while.

Sometimes, he looked determined, or lost in thought. His stoic mask kept me out.

I caught him taking a peek at my drawings, but didn't say anything. I just kept on doodling, and slowly the techniques were coming back to me.

On Thursday night, instead of paying any real attention to my Biology homework, I took my time filling half a page with a mighty centaur. I wondered idly if Edward would think it was any good, but he never saw it.

Friday was sunny, and he didn't show. It didn't take very long for an explanation to reach my ears.

Newton made an event out of describing the Cullens shopping for outdoor's equipment at his father's store. It was the first real indication that he truly belonged with Jessica, a thought that didn't fail to make me shudder.

The day dragged on forever, with much to dread and nothing to look forward to. The weekends were the most solitary part of my existence in Forks, but I welcomed them for the rest they provided. Jam-packed with gossip and hormones, High School was a torturous experience. My rest was sacred.

It was, therefore, in a most foul mood that I got up early on Saturday and made my way to Newton's.

I was asked to ride shotgun with him, a perspective only the tiniest bit more attractive than have an armed shotgun pointed at my head. I drove my own car, and Angela kindly offered to accompany me.

"Thanks for doing this, I know you'd rather go with Ben," I remarked, and the gentle girl turned at least three different shades of pink before my eyes. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

"No, it's just, I never realized it was that obvious," she sighed, looking down to her hands.

"It's not. It's just my nature to be observant. You know, I heard about that girl's choice thing… You should invite him."

"I don't think he'd say yes," she muttered.

"Of course he will," I countered. She looked at me, hope and fear swimming in her eyes. "I told you I'm observant."

Her spirits seemed to lift a great deal after that, and I was pleased to imagine the two of the together. Ben had always come across as a sweet guy.

Never one to indulge in daydreaming, she turned the tables on me:

"How about you? Who are you inviting?"

"I'm not going; I have something scheduled for that weekend."

She seemed genuinely sad.

"Well, Mike will be disappointed."

I gritted my teeth. I had no idea what had ever possessed me to believe that high school could be a positive experience.

The sun peeked occasionally between the clouds – as sunny as Forks could probably get during October, just enough to warm up the air.

The tree line stopped right as the sand started, and grey mountains filled the horizon. The dark water wiped the sandy shore again and again, and I missed a wisp of wind to stir the morning air.

The teenagers quickly filtered out of the other two cars, and any hope for quiet was quickly lost. I filled away the idea of coming back on my own.

A beer appeared in front of me, attached to Mike's arm.

"I got a couple of six packs," he shrugged, internally patting himself on the back.

As if giving a girl alcohol would show her just how responsible and dependable he was.

"I think I'll pass. I'll grab a soda in a couple of minutes. But you should offer it to Jessica."

"She can get her own…"

"I'm sure it would mean a great deal if the gesture came from you."

He seemed confused.

"If you think we're together… I mean… we're not," he stated, wide-eyed.

_How articulate._

"No, Mike, but maybe you should look into that."

Finally, he understood what I meant, and straightened himself in front of me, the picture perfect of someone who isn't quite used to dealing with rejection.

Mumbling something unintelligible, he walked away, opening the beer he'd previously offered me. I just sighed.

He had never truly cared for me. I was just something new to look at, someone different to covet. I was positive his heart wouldn't take much, if anything, to mend itself.

Most took it upon themselves to light a fire out of driftwood, and, for a while, were huddled together around it, talking and sipping drinks. After a while, though, the whole started to break into smaller groups that wanted to stroll around, check out the tide pools or drink some more.

Save the last, I took part in every activity, usually sticking close to Angela and Ben. They were very cute and awkward around each other, and I soon realized that my presence helped them with being more at ease, instead of constituting a hindrance.

Around lunchtime, we got back to the fire; several tall, russet skinned boys had joined the crowd, and I recognized the Quileute characteristic features.

One of them, closest to me, observed me for a while as introductions were made. His face was familiar, but I couldn't place it.

As I'd been to so many places and seen so many different people, this tended to happen a little more than usual, so I shrugged it off.

The oldest among them, Sam, finally introduced the youngest:

"That's Embry, and this is Jacob."

_Jacob. Jacob Black._

The memories made sense, and I focused on my can of soda, panic building against reason. I knew him – or had known him, back when I brought my little plastic bucket and shovel to the beach while Charlie went fishing with Billy Black.

He'd been a childhood friend.

I tried to convince myself that he wouldn't recognize me, and finally felt confident enough to sneak a glance his way. He was closer, hands on his short pockets, sizing me up.

"Bella?"

_So much for hoping he won't remember me._

Mike's brow wrinkled.

"You know each other?"

"No… I don't think so," I lied, only partially. We knew nothing of each other, after all. The details of our play dates were lost to me.

"But your name is Bella," Jacob pushed. "I think you know me, and that you just don't remember. It's me, Jacob, Billy Black's son," he grinned.

We were attracting attention I did not want. The eyes of my classmates and of the Quileute boys were trained on me, suddenly hungry for gossip.

"I think you have me confused with someone else," I stated.

"No, you're Charlie Swan's daughter, Bella," he insisted.

"You got it wrong, man," Mike interceded, and, that one second, he held my undivided gratitude. "Her name is Carter. She just moved in."

Incident over and curiosity sated, everyone dismissed us and turned to their own conversations. I breathed a little bit better.

I sat on the sand, beside Angela and Ben, and moved to distribute some of the sandwiches I'd fixed. I could feel Jacob's eyes on me.

I looked him back in the eye, silently begging him not to say anything. Not to expose the secrets I wanted to keep to myself, to force me to explain the last few years of my life.

"I guess I got confused," he finally agreed, even though his expression made clear he didn't believe his own words.

I swallowed my food, tasting nothing, and excused myself to leave, stating I wasn't feeling well.

It was the absolute truth.

Jacob got up as I packed my things, and I stared at him in horror.

"I'll walk you to your car," he stated, not as an offering.

I studied him while we walked in silence, his quiet seriousness leaving me at a miss as to his age. He seemed young – fifteen, sixteen at most. I couldn't remember how old we were when we used to play, as kids.

Finally, he broke the tension.

"I know you're Bella Swan. I don't care what people are calling you these days, I'd recognize you anywhere. But…" he turned to me, his broad face relaxing, "if you don't want anyone to find out about it, I'll keep it to myself."

"Thank you," I acknowledged.

"Is everything alright? With you… and Charlie?" he asked, suddenly curious. "We haven't heard from you guys in so long."

"I'm sorry, Jacob. I'm thankful for your silence, I really am, but there's nothing to say. For all intents and purposes, I'm not the girl you used to know," I stated, with no room for error, trying to warn him away.

"And I'm supposed to keep quiet, without even knowing what happened to you?" he asked, raising his voice, and I looked around.

"No one can change the past. I'm alright now, as you can see," I tried. It seemed to calm him. "How's your father?"

I remembered Billy as a broad, warm man, of a kind disposition.

"He's just the same. You should visit… if you ever want to. The doors will always be open."

I nodded, as a mere acknowledgement. I already knew I'd never do it.

Turning to get in the car, relief and guilt battled for dominance over me, anxiety sending my blood rushing to my ears.

My past wasn't nearly as dormant as I'd like.


	6. The Protector

**Sorry for the time it took me to update, everyone! Finals suck. But I promise to be a much better writer in the near future ;)**

**Enjoy!**

_Seven Years Ago_

There was a small crowd at the beach, enjoying the sun and the wonderfully warm water.

Giggling children slipped away from their concerned mothers; men and boys played beach volleyball, shouting loudly at each other and throwing sand in the general direction of scowling beauties in neon bikinis.

I was just enjoying the scenery as much as possible, liking the way the sun warmed me even when I was immersed. I smiled to myself, wondering if my skin could ever possibly get that dark honey glaze some of the women wore, stunningly.

The eastern part of the beach was filled with small fishing boats mixed in with larger recreational ones, and I observed as the two worlds collided.

The badly painted fishing boats held the most appeal to me. It was romantic to think of the windy nights when strong men left their wives to battle the waves.

Then again, southern Spain wasn't known for its storms, but its quiet waters.

I could feel his eyes on me the whole time, a comforting weight resting between my shoulders. I had grown accustomed to this protection, this care.

Skipping out of the water, I walked my way through the sand to find Charlie pretending to read the only American newspaper he'd found at the hotel, his sunglasses mirroring the headlines. I stood before him, hands on my hips, craning my neck.

"How's the water, Bells?" he asked, eyes never leaving the newspaper, even though they'd be on me, watching for potential dangers, as soon as I turned to leave again.

"It's nice and warm. You should take a swim."

"Maybe later. Don't go off too deep into the water, alright? It might seem calm enough, but the deeper it gets, the more you can feel…"

"The current, yes, I know," I cut in, smiling. He'd given me the same advice countless times before. He gave me some sort of smile, pressing his lips together, and sneaked a look at his backpack. I scowled. "Don't even think about putting the shirt on."

"I won't. Not today, anyway; but I was thinking about talking to the hotel manager…" he started, newspaper forgotten on his lap and a hopeful expression his sunglasses were unable to hide. My scowl deepened.

"No… Dad! Come on, no fishing! We're on holiday, we're supposed to be having fun and resting."

"People have different ways of having fun. I like fishing," he shrugged. I groaned under my breath.

"We're staying at a hotel. What would you even do with the fish you caught?"

"Release them, of course."

I stuck my tongue to the side of my cheek. I needed a solid point to my argument.

"Will you let me come to the beach alone while you're gone?"

Immediately, I knew I'd struck gold.

"Absolutely not!" he roared, cheeks flaming. "You could get abducted, or drown, or…"

"Exactly," I smiled in triumph. "So, it looks like we need to reach a compromise. I'll go fishing with you for a maximum of one third of our stay. During the other two thirds, we'll walk around the island in the mornings and hit the beach in the afternoons."

I could see Charlie wavering, but I knew just how much he hated being seated by the palm trees, doing nothing all afternoon. He wanted to bargain some more.

"How come you get two thirds and I get one?" my father asked, appealing to my sense of fairness.

"Hey, don't get me started on all the fishing excursions I had to be a part of back in Forks," I warned, and his hearty chuckle reached my ears.

"Alright, Bells. Go on," he added, observing me as I greedily eyed the waves. "I'll be watching."

I ran back to the water, grinning. He didn't need to say it.

I already knew.

~*~

Cup of tea forgotten, I focused on the scrapbook lying open before me, the rough finish of its pages caressing my eager fingers.

I rubbed my neck, willing the insomnia away, but with little hope for sleep.

The light in the kitchen was too bright, too harsh; but I lacked the heart to take the book up to my room and scan through it more thoroughly.

Just rummaging through the photo albums and scrapbooks in order to find the one I needed to see had taken enough courage.

The details were lost in my memory, but familiar. The chicken scratch beside snapshots dating back to my childhood sounded like Charlie's voice in my ears.

My eyelids were getting heavy and my eyes were getting wet, so I skipped the pages until I found a beaming boy, with long dark hair, russet skin and gleaming white teeth, holding a fish almost bigger than himself.

_Jacob just turned five_, my father's handwriting informed me.

_Bella doesn't enjoy having her hair pulled_, the next entry stated, accompanying a photo of a seven year-old Bella chasing after Jacob with a stick in on her hand.

I couldn't help but laugh, but the sound didn't fill me.

There was more of the same, and I realized that, at the time, we were pretty much inseparable. Our sleepovers, our trips down to the beach, our tantrums and our games were all there. I felt guilty for not remembering it clearly, but a decade had passed since I'd moved away.

Jacob had remembered me well, though.

I didn't know whether or not to trust him, but I knew I had no other choice. I didn't want to be forced to move out and cut the feeble ties I had just started to weave.

I closed the book and left it on the kitchen table, beside the cold cup of tea. Upstairs, my room was just as cold, and my unforgiving mind kept drifting back to La Push.

All I needed to do was get some sleep and show up for school the next day. If Jacob had kept his word, I'd still be Bella Carter, and everything would go on being normal.

Yet, I couldn't sleep and be normal and go to school.

I wanted to get into my car and drive to Seattle and get on a plane. Because I hadn't been taught on how to deal with potential disaster, but I had a master's degree on running away from it.

Staying was pointless. The isolation I was so familiar with, and that I'd learnt to welcome as true company, was heavier here. The nights were impossibly long, as the days were just a cruel extension.

A pair of engaging golden eyes kept me wondering what would happen the next day, but the barriers Edward Cullen put in place were too thick, the set mask too impenetrable.

If I were to stay, it had to be for me, by myself. But taking the gamble of coming back to Forks had been risky enough, and I was starting to see my own resolve and my decisions crumble.

I was already mapping out my escape.

Tossing a heavy parka over my thin pajamas, I left the house and got in the car, leaving the lights on. I didn't even lock the door or bring any documents; I didn't care.

I briefly considered there was no one I could call to bail me out if the fine men in blue of Forks caught me speeding. But, then again, a night in jail might be what I needed. A caged bird has no choice, and choice was the one thing that could ruin me.

Under the ever cloudy sky of Forks, there was no moonlight. I turned off the headlights only to turn them on again, realizing I'd otherwise have to blindly make my way to the sandy shore.

_This is stupid, it will solve nothing_, I thought to myself, hugging my torso as I stepped out into the cold night, walking straight ahead.

I stood there for maybe five minutes, just listening to the small sounds, amplified in the immensity of the cold, harsh, humid night.

And I really asked myself why I was still in Forks. I could have driven anywhere, and yet I was at First Beach for the second time in forty-eight hours, facing the cold, and fighting the urge to leave.

I was fighting to stay. That's when I knew I had to.

Without thinking, I slipped out of my parka and kicked out of my pajama pants, discarding them on the beach. My socks were the last to be added on top of the pile, and I smiled to myself, just because I'd won that battle.

The sand was rougher than I thought, scratching my feet as I walked, clad in nothing more than underwear and a long sleeved white cotton shirt.

But I wanted to embrace Forks - the good and the bad - and finally call it quits. I wanted a home where I could hear footsteps besides my own.

The water was cold enough to hurt as it first made contact with the skin of my feet. Shivering desperately, I forced my shaking limbs to cooperate and moved forward, stopping as the water lapped at my stomach.

I was freezing - enough to burn - but a raw laugh still came, joy in it. Such a crazy thing to do, and yet so liberating.

With a long pull of air and the synchronized arch of my arms, I dove.

My very own baptism.

As soon as I emerged, panting, my heart hammering within my chest, protesting against the added effort of pumping blood to my frozen extremities, I half stumbled, half ran back to the pile of clothes, dripping, and, taking them, entered the car.

I set the air conditioning to maximum heat and stripped my cold wet sweater, wishing I'd had the sense to bring another change of clothes as I slipped back into the dry ones I did have.

None of it could make much sense, but I was left oddly at peace.

The connection I felt the first time I entered the old house couldn't be faked. I went there looking for something and I had to believe I was, at least, on my way to finding it.

Diving into the cold ocean water before the crack of dawn wasn't just another form of recklessness, as Edward would put it. It was my very own way of sealing a promise.

No more running.

My teeth were still chattering by the time I went back inside the house, and it felt good to have lights on, waiting for me. A warm shower helped me get rid of the salt and remnants of the uncomfortable cold, just in time to make it to school.

I was very attentive that day, searching for any strains of gossip related to me, the beach or Jacob. None could be found. I asked if the Quileutes usually 'hung out' with the kids at Forks, but I was told they mostly kept to themselves.

And I was just getting comfortable when Mike interceded.

"That was really freaky. I mean, that Quileute _kid_," he spat, using age as a fault, "used to know a Bella and she must have looked like you. What are the chances of that?"

I set down my fork, giving up on the task of putting aside the scrapes of cheese the High School cafeteria had contaminated my salad with.

"It's not that uncommon. I'm a brunette with brown eyes, just like so many other girls in this school. I'm pale, but, then again, this is Forks," I stated, dry voice and peaceful, annoyed expression. "It was just a coincidence."

No one would guess I was observing them for any signs of disagreement. Mike's attention was diverted by Jessica, keen at work, trying to assesswhether or not he'd been invited to the upcoming dance event.

"Hey, Bella," Eric cut in, effectively putting a halt to Jessica's efforts, "want some company to the girls' choice?"

A little stunned, I opened my mouth to politely decline, but didn't get the chance to.

"Yorkie, are you stupid or something? She's supposed to ask."

Mike's question, laden with threat, hung in the air, as Eric seemed to ponder whether to fight or run for it. Finally, he replied with an affirmation of his own:

"Don't hate me because I had the balls to do it, Newton. That's probably why you didn't get asked in the first place."

_Fight it is._

"Whoa," Ben mumbled, gaping at the scene before us. Beside him, Angela nodded her silent agreement.

It was as if Eric had spent the last years of his life being pushed around, building up to the moment where he confronted the so called 'cool kid'. I realized this was probably the truth.

"What's your problem?" Jessica jumped in, defending Mike's honor, completely disregarding the fact that it wouldn't do any good in restoring his _macho_ status. "It's not like Mike wanted to go with Bella in the first place."

Heads turned to Mike, who, by now, was flushing red in anger and humiliation.

And, just like the teenage boy he was, he lashed out at the one person who was defending him.

"Snap out of it, Jess, it's not like making out with you on Saturday made you queen of the mountain!"

In horror, Jessica sunk to her chair, a murderous glare turned Eric's way. She'd blame anyone but the boy that had just insulted her, really.

Every single occupant of the cafeteria had their heads turned our way. Even the lunch ladies.

Hell, even the Cullens.

All the while, I was trying to deal with this sudden spotlight as well as fighting the unsurpassable urge to laugh.

_I did want to divert attention, but this is ridiculous._

I looked over the top of the head of a rather smug-looking Eric Yorkie, still high on his courage, to lock eyes with Edward Cullen.

He seemed to be containing a couple of laughs himself, while one of his brothers - the big one - was guffawing away.

Unexpectedly, I felt the burning urge to talk to him, something he could choose to ignore.

The corners of my lips were quirked up as I mouthed "_Save me"_, after checking if anyone was taking notice of our exchange.

I realized I'd never gotten the chance to answer properly, so I turned to the table in general as I announced what Angela already knew:

"I'm not going to the dance, I have something to do that weekend. You should… try and get along, guys. It's supposed to be a fun event."

The charged atmosphere seemed to alleviate, humiliation setting in for just about everyone, and, realizing the show was over, most of the other students went back to their chatter.

I was already getting my bag as I felt a presence beside me.

Looking up, I was met with golden eyes and the same amused expression I'd seen from across the room.

"I was hoping we could discuss the Biology project?" he stated, as more of a question, and I smiled back wholeheartedly, getting up to leave.

He might have asked for distance, but, at the slightest hint of trouble, he'd answered my plea.

"Thank you for that," I acknowledged, as we left and made our way to class.

"It was my pleasure."

And, just like that, the walls were broken.


	7. Walking On Ice

**Thank you for all the love the reviewers sent me, it means a lot!**

**As always, pippapear holds a very special piece of my heart.**

I readjusted the strap of the bag on my shoulder, as it hurt, pressing on my sore body. I hadn't touched my bed the night before, and it probably showed, as Edward called me on it:

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

"I look that good, then?" I asked, joking, but his face was set in that deadly serious mask he wore so well. His eyes talked to me of concern. "I'm fine. I'm just getting used to living here, that's all," I justified, twisting the truth as always.

"Did you have fun on Saturday?"

"Not really, I ended up leaving early," I replied, sourly, having remembered Jacob. All of a sudden, I felt guilty for not inviting him - even if the chances of him saying yes were next to none. "How was your weekend?"

I smiled up to him and realized that, walking side by side, I'd unconsciously stepped closer than what could be called polite. Our faces were inches away.

He didn't answer, studying my face instead, and I didn't find it in me the need or the will to play coy. I did the same.

Breaking myself out of that trance, I corrected my steps and took a swift look around.

And we were getting plenty of spectators. Even if I hadn't been the new girl, and even if he hadn't been the boy with the strangely attached adoptive family, we'd still get looks. Because we were who we were, teenagers were parting in front of us like the Red Sea did for Moses.

"You don't care for the attention," Edward stated.

"No, I really don't. I'm used to be good at being invisible, so living in Forks is my own personal nightmare," I answered, in a rush, as we finally got to the door. It took me a couple of seconds to realize just how blunt I'd been.

"It gets better," he offered, setting his books down at our table.

_It didn't for you._

"You never answered my question. How was your weekend?"

"Long," he summarized, and moved to sit. He didn't drag his chair all the way to the farthest spot from mine, so I considered it progress. Just as Mr. Banner came in and everyone settled down, getting ready for yet another riveting Biology class, I heard him whisper: "Were you telling the truth about having something scheduled next weekend, or was that just a nice way of rejecting any possible suitors?"

I repressed a chuckle, barely. From whom, but him, would the word 'suitors' sound perfectly normal instead of comical? The mischievous glint in his eyes didn't help any. As soon as I was sure that Mr. Banner wouldn't catch the conversation, I whispered back:

"I was being honest. I'll be out of Forks for two days."

I caught his nod on my peripheral vision.

"If I wasn't, I would have made something up," I added, unable to control myself.

A smirk stretched onto his lips, and I started taking notes, loosely aware of the subject matter.

_I would have still told you the truth._

In the corner of my mind, something was nagging me, but it slipped from me as I concentrated. The bell rang, and the shrill sound finally brought forth in what I had been grasping at for an hour.

But, as I turned to ask, Edward was already leaving the classroom, leaving me to question myself.

_How could he have heard what I said if he was five tables away right before I said it?_

The first person I told my plans about was Angela, but I knew her to be reliable, if not the only reliable person I knew in the entire school. She wouldn't have discussed it with anyone.

The only other time I talked about the following weekend had been at that table. And Edward didn't speak with anyone after that but me.

So he had to have heard it. Only that wasn't possible.

I replayed it in my head, but there was no way he should have been able to hear it. As I got my bag, maybe twenty seconds after discussing my plans, he was still just coming up to me.

My headache stayed with me all the way home, before I collapsed on my bed for a full twelve hours of sleep. Up before dawn, I found an old sketchbook with plenty of blank pages and occupied myself with drawing.

Not only occupied myself with it, but immersed myself in it. I hadn't felt the need to express things through my brushes in so long, but my fingers were tingling with the need to do so.

My need pushing me, I filled page after page, finally shutting out the lights when it became bright enough.

Always the same process, and yet with such different results.

I'd freeze the image in my mind, exactly like one would pin a photo onto a corkboard, always a real memory I'd filed away to carefully contemplate later. The first couple of sweeps of the pencil were animalistic, unorganized, and savage; I wanted to get it out of me so very badly that I'd nearly rip the sheet of paper.

Then came the finer lines, the rough details, if there was such a thing; it evolved and came to life.

Colors filled my mind with possibility, but I had no oils, no canvas. Just a sketchbook with less pages than I'd wished for, less time before school that I'd hoped for. A pile of mashed up black cigarettes was the only evidence of my time drawing.

Tuesday proved itself nice and peaceful; for the first time, I was mostly ignored. Adding that to the little whispered conversation I and Edward managed throughout Biology, I thought things were looking up.I even decided not to mention anything about my suspicions, afraid he'd shut himself out and crush the feeble trust I'd achieved between us.

I should have known better.

On Wednesday morning, I got to school early - wanting to catch a glimpse of the buildings in the dim light. I was still aching to get my hands on some good oils and canvas. The weekend was the perfect opportunity._ As long as I'm being dragged out of Forks, I should at least get something from it._

Throughout the last couple of months, the calls and e-mails had grown more and more desperate. When I finally agreed to schedule a meeting, the board of advisers immediately relocated it to Portland, not wanting to give me an excuse not to go.

I would have gone to London, regardless. Or, at least, I would seriously consider it.

They were sending a car to pick me up on Friday night, and reservations in my name had already been made at a local hotel. I changed them as soon as I found out.

It's not a good thing to let other people take control over your life.

As I was mulling over this, I saw the Cullens entering the school. I noticed, surprised, as the red-haired one strayed from the group, silently, and came up to me, with a quiet greeting.

"Good morning, Edward," I replied, seeing the rest of his family go in. My smile was strained as I saw them scrutinizing me in a mix of curiosity, distrust, and, in Rosalie's case, disdain.

Their brother didn't seem to notice.

Seconds later, a loud crashing sound, originated at the parking lot, startled me. Edward remained unphased.

"We should go see what happened," Edward stated, not really a suggestion. He was walking towards the gates before I had the time to react.

A little crowd was already forming on the parking lot, but he managed to cut through the stunned teenagers long enough to make a gap for me to see.

My hand flew to my forehead as I tried to take it in.

The front of Tyler's van was crushed, one of his headlights shattered; half the bumper was smashed, the other hanging, precariously secured.

I could still see my classmate inside the large vehicle, looking scared, but unharmed. The marks on the ice let me know he'd swerved before the crash.

And then, there was my Ford.

The van had collided with one of the back doors, turning the whole vehicle into a misshapen "C".

As he saw me, Tyler jumped out of the truck, ignoring the numerous voices asking him if he was alright.

"Bella, I am so sorry! I will find a way of getting it fixed! I am so, so sorry!"

His apology shocked me some, and I moved closer to him, rubbing his shoulder.

"Never mind any of that... Are you hurt?" I asked, the only thing I really wanted to know.

He seemed more stunned at the fact that I was touching him than he did after crashing his car.

"I am... I'm okay."

"He wasn't injured," Edward all but sneered, deep scowl set. "It's probably just shock," he added, with a certainty I couldn't understand.

The two following hours were a circus, complete with an ambulance sent for Tyler, a police inquiry and two tow trucks to take the mangled pieces of metal away.

"I was lucky I wasn't anywhere near the car," I whispered, as the whole spectacle drew to a close. Edward, having always been by my side throughout the ordeal, thought differently:

"He was the lucky one. Not only did you let him off easy, it seems what he did only endeared him to you," he stated, the same way an animal would snarl.

"What are you talking about?"

"Soothing him and touching his shoulder? What would your boyfriend think of that?" he insisted, turning to leave. But I wasn't about to get angry at the back of a black overcoat.

"Edward, would you please wait?" I asked, unmoving, and not a hint of frailty to my voice. It was a statement of power, and maybe he recognized that, but still turned. "First things first. I was being sympathetic towards a boy that had just suffered through a car crash. I don't care about what happened to my car, it's either easily fixed or replaceable. But he's a human being. What was I supposed to care for the most? And what boyfriend?"

Edward sighed, running a hand through his hair and, maybe (or so I hoped) taking control of his temper.

A couple of seconds later, he stepped closer, looking down at my hands. I didn't understand what he was doing until he picked up my left one, the one with the scar from the bite.

His hand was cold to the touch, almost deathly so. I could physically feel the heat being drained from my own skin as he touched my fingers, with a featherlight touch, deep in concentration.

"The one who was with you the day you got this."

We were still at the parking lot, standing at the spot where my car had been parked, and he was doing nothing more than holding my hand between us, not looking me in the eye. And yet, I felt it private enough for me to be subconscious about being out on the street, on display.

Shaking away those thoughts, as well as the strange, but pleasant feel of his skin, I answered:

"Sebastien?"

"He's french, then," Edward whispered, more to himself. "Let me guess. Tall, brown hair, outgoing, irresistible accent?"

I smirked.

"He is french, and tall. Outgoing and nice accent, too. But the brown was a little off; it's black. And blue eyes."

The boy in front of me just nodded, letting go of my hand.

"You'd be just his type, too," I added.

His brow furrowed for a second as he finally met my eyes, and I watched in amusement as the meaning of my words finally set in.

"Oh," he mouthed. I offered him a smile, and fought off the uncomfortable silence.

"I better get home. I should call the shop, find out what happened to my car."

That was when I realized I had no means of transportation. Edward must have sensed my distress, as he offered:

"I'll take you, if you want."

I looked past him to the road, unable to ignore the fresh skid marks ahead, and thought about it.

And I came to the conclusion that I really didn't want Edward to think I was the weak girl, the one that needs rescuing.

"That's okay, I think I'll walk. I could use the fresh air," I answered, the words leaving me before I could sugarcoat them. I preferred them that way, too.

Whispering a goodbye, I walked away, trying to concentrate on everything around me for long enough to get some ideas and figure out which oils to buy. But it was useless.

My mind was cluttered with the sounds of crashes, harsh words and gentle touches. Cold touches.

Yet I could still tell he was anything but.


	8. Irrational

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the kind feedback you've all been sending me, it means the world.**

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**Enjoy the chapter ;)  
**

_Three years ago_

I tapped the pencil on the table as I read the text, occasionally underlining the important parts. Carlo, the only Italian librarian I'd ever managed to pay me any attention, shot me an annoyed look, and I smiled sheepishly in apology. I wouldn't do it if I thought I was disturbing anyone.

The beautiful_ Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emanuele III _was shamelessly empty. Naples was still pleasant in the autumn - much too pleasant to spend the day in the library. I was trying hard to catch up on everything kids my age were learning at school, but, having researched a bit about the man the building was named after, it wasn't easy.

I couldn't stop picturing the 5 feet tall Italian King that had proclaimed himself Emperor of Ethiopia and King of Albania, on top of living through two world wars and the fascist regime in Italy. What a guy!

I was going through some Geography material when I heard steps coming my way.

Brisk, noisy steps, definitely not Carlo's.

"Hey, Dad," I whispered, turning.

"You need to hurry up," was his only reply, deep lines on his forehead and a «no nonsense» scowl set on his face. It was his law enforcer face, I realized. "I booked us seats on a plane back to London, it leaves tonight. There's not much time."

"But, Dad… I really wanted to stay here for a while, I like it here…" I countered, surprised.

"We're going home, Isabella," he cut in, using my full name as a means of applying additional pressure. He wasn't allowing me as much as a show of opinion, let alone a debate.

"But the house is already paid for, we were supposed to stay here for three months," I tried, but he wouldn't listen.

"I have had enough of this!" he spat, in a menacing whisper. "We are leaving and we are doing it now!"

"Why?"

That little question made him snap.

"I am your father, I know what's best for you, and you will not question that! Now get your things!" he bellowed.

He had never lost his cool with me before. He had never yelled.

Every single decision - from the destination of our trips to the color of our bathroom rug - was a result of a discussion.

Was this the same man that had taught me the value of diplomacy, the importance of listening and being heard?

Was this the same man that had taken such care in showing me where each penny of ours was spent, involving me in every practical aspect of our lives?

Startled, I started packing, crying silently. I felt humiliated and betrayed - but, most of all, nervous.

I wasn't sure I knew this man.

Carlo came forth, livid with the ruckus we'd caused.

"_Signori, scuzi…" _he intervened, pointing to the door.

"_Aspecta, por favore…" _I tried, asking him to wait as I wanted to copy a few pages of the books I'd been using, but it was useless. Carlo summarily walked us out and shut the door behind us.

The walk back to the little apartment we were renting was slow, silent and hard to endure.

I was afraid to look up and see my father's face in anger. I was more afraid that it looked nothing like him - my only family, my very best friend.

That night, we didn't speak to each other for the first time since I could remember.

Sixteen hours later, I woke up in London to our dim apartment - silent, no TV on. Charlie wasn't home.

Barefoot, I made my way to the kitchen to get some cereal and start the day. I would have to pick up where I left off in Italy.

After shutting the fridge's door, I let out a yelp and jumped back.

Sitting at the table was my neighbor and friend, Alexis. I had no idea how she'd managed to get in.

"You scared the crap out of me!" I admitted, my voice still shaky as I moved to sit.

"'Morning, babes. Sorry about that. How have you been doing? Haven't seen you around, these last couple of days," she ventured, in her cool, absent-minded way, and I cackled, stirring some milk into the cereal.

I'd been gone for a little under three weeks, but it didn't faze her when I told her so.

I never actually expected her to notice - that was just her. She would just jump in unannounced, sometimes every day, sometimes months apart. She'd always greet me as if we'd seen each other the day before.

As I ate silently, I got a chance to really notice her attire for the day. She was wearing a little black dress, paired with tall boots and shockingly yellow nail polish. Her haircut and coloring were certainly Marilyn Monroe inspired, save for the rainbow colored streak falling over her eyes.

When she swatted it away, I was able to see they were a disturbing shade of lilac - probably the product of a red pair of contacts over her grey-blue irises.

"What's gotten you out of bed so early?" I started, as she was unusually quiet.

"Nothing much. Thought we could maybe do some shopping, I'll be out tonight."

"I should probably stay home, I have some subjects to catch up on, and Charlie is not in such a good mood."

She frowned, as I had never gotten into a fight with my Dad. We'd had our moments, sure - usually over his overprotective nature - but nothing like this. This sudden and unjustified trip back to London, the yelling and the attitude.

I didn't eat much, still physically sick about it as I reenacted the scene for my friend.

"Normal teenagers fight with their parents all the time, babes. I'm sure this will blow over in a couple of days."

I nodded my assent, even though I didn't believe it.

"In the meantime, you could make him pay," she suggested, waggling her eyebrows. "I'm going out tonight, my brother is playing at this really cool pub, you should come!"

"No… Alexis! I'm not going out, you know Charlie doesn't like it, let alone after this fight… And what brother?" I had to ask, confused.

"He's not my brother, per se, I mean, he's my maid's son, and a really cool bloke. But I swear he and my father are so alike, you won't believe it."

My eyebrows shot up.

"You think…?"

"My daddy took a dip around? I wouldn't know, but I don't think so. I just like the look on my parents' face each time I say I'm going out to meet my brother."

Perfectly cool. That was Alexis. Even faced with the possibility of an illegitimate sibling, she just used it as a way to rile up the parents.

I was always the straight arrow. I never did anything to rile up Charlie - if I wanted something, I would normally just ask and talk about it. He had always been perfectly rational in his explanations and we usually reached some sort of middle ground.

Not in Naples, though. He didn't offer any kind of explanation; he didn't ask if it was okay with me. He wasn't rational, for once.

Maybe it was my turn to break the pattern.

"You know what?" I mused out loud. "I think I _will_ go out tonight."

Alexis offered me a wide grin. I wasn't entirely sure I'd have fun, in spite of her enthusiasm.

I did know how Charlie would feel once he found me gone. That's the reason why I did it.

~*~

A little stack of documents was placed in front of me, over the nice mahogany table. In the most monotonous voice I'd ever known, Mr. Harker prattled on:

"Taking into account the reports I was telling you about, Miss Carter, we wanted to propose these changes. We're not expecting you to inspect every single transaction…"

Demanding attention, I raised a finger after scanning through the first few pages.

"A view in spite of which I would still like to discuss these items. So, if you don't mind, gentlemen, let's do just that." The three men scattered around the conference table nodded, solemnly. "Why are we pulling the investment from the coffee shop?"

"I believe the profits weren't as high as expected, Miss Carter," the eldest of them all, Mr. Seaver, answered.

"But it has turned a profit?" I insisted.

"Well, yes, but taking into account that there are so much better investment opportunities…" Mr. Harker started, and was about to launch himself into what I was sure was the dullest explanation to have ever been heard when I interrupted him.

"Let's leave things as they are, then. And I would like a detailed report on exactly what is going on. There might be an issue that needs intervention."

I liked that coffee shop. I used to get my coffee there every chance I got, back in London.

"We'll e-mail it to you as soon as possible, Miss Carter," Mr. Harker promised, and I nodded. I had utter confidence in him. Apart from his command of language, the man was terribly effective. "Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

I scanned through the rest of the documents, but came up empty. I was about to ask the advisers to move the meeting along when I saw it.

"What is the meaning of this?"

My voice was much harsher than I'd meant it to be, but the men in front of me seemed unaffected.

"Are you referring to the sale of the boat and the end of the contract with the marina in Southern Spain, Miss Carter?" Mr. Harker asked, letting me know they were expecting this reaction.

"Yes, that is exactly what I'm referring to."

"Well, taking the current events into consideration…" he started and I waved, begging for him to get to the point, "we believe it is unnecessary and costly. The funds could be redirected."

"The contract has already been terminated, and the boat has been put up for sale. I did not approve any of this."

"But, Miss Carter…"

"It's not like anyone is going to use it anymore," Higgins, the third adviser, piped in.

If looks could kill, he'd be dead. Not only by the force of my gaze - but his coworkers', too.

"Last time I checked, I'm perfectly able to afford the fishing boat and the fees that come with its maintenance at the marina. It is to be taken back to its spot, which you all should hope is still vacant. I want a new contract renegotiated by the end of next week. Decisions such as this one _go through me, first_. Is that clear?" I heard myself say.

They all nodded, muttering assent. Higgins was as pale as the plaster wall behind him.

I had a faint idea of what they might say about me behind my back - their boss, the nineteen year old - but I didn't care. They might portray me as a spoiled little brat outside the boardroom. Inside, I had their respect.

The meeting went on for another couple of hours. We discussed real estate and new investments, the several charities I was contributing to.

I was planning on bringing up the subject of Christmas bonuses, but decided against it, as it would ruin the dramatic effect of my anger. I'd e-mail them later.

Even having spent the morning sitting down, my feet were already complaining about the heels. Ignoring their pleas, I went out to enjoy the sunny Sunday afternoon.

We would have held the meeting on Saturday, but the conference room at the hotel was already booked for the day.

So I had spent it at home improvement and antique stores, hoping to come up with ideas to freshen up the house back in Forks. I wanted to mark it as my own, and feel truly comfortable inside it.

I'd saved sightseeing and visiting arts and crafts stores for _after_ the meeting. A part of me already knew I'd need to step out of the part I played in there and just be myself, by myself.

Portland's weather was much more tempered that Forks', so I was able to shrug off my coat while shopping, enjoy the slight breeze that caressed my back when I stepped out onto the streets.

Dozens of new pencils, brushes and oils, heavy, sat at the bottom of my big bags, overflowing with canvas I would have to stretch myself. I'd also managed to find a decent stand and a nice quality paint thinner.

My old art's teacher would be proud of my recurring interest.

Done with shopping, I didn't feel like going back to the hotel. I had skipped lunch, and my stomach was protesting, but I wanted to stretch my walk just a little bit longer.

Without knowing how, I found myself strolling around the Tom McCall Waterfront Park.

I'd been out on the streets for a good portion of the afternoon, but nothing seemed familiar. I had just arrived to the conclusion that Charlie hadn't brought me here - or, if he did, I was much too young to remember - when it came to me, with the sheer force of a tidal wave.

_I've been here before_.

I breathed the light air and exhaled several times, trying to control myself. I didn't want to cry in public. But I remembered it so well - playing hide and seek with my Dad at that park. And just that morning, they had wanted to sell his fishing boat, to erase that little bit more of his memory.

_I miss you, Dad._


	9. Seeking Home

**Hey, everyone! Thank you so much for your support. This chapter took a bit longer, but the next update will be much swifter. Enjoy ;)**

(Not really a) Random fact: Smashing Pumpkins' _Bullet With Butterfly Wings' _first verse is "The world is a vampire, sent to drain".

I started walking my way back to the hotel, my slow, small steps turned tentative as my mood sunk further at the prospect of driving myself back to Forks. Yet another thing I had to take care of.

I stopped in front of a large display window, drawn in by the warm glow of colored glass and old fabrics draped over new furniture, scheming for decorating tips. I smiled at a small swatch of red and green plaid fabric, thick and lost among the more luxurious samples, flowing effortlessly. Most would never notice it.

I felt myself being sucked back to the time when Alexis and I would stay out late, trying to find short skirts in that exact pattern to wear to one of the shows. It was Halloween, her brother's band was playing at a good pub, and we were going dressed as the naughty pupils, a fitting match to his strict teacher outfit, complete with a suit and tie. Alexis planned the whole thing. We were an unbreakable trio.

A prickling sensation in the back of my neck almost made me turn, but I resisted the urge, checking the reflection in the thick glass.

The street was busy, the ongoing current of transients and vehicles lending a steady dynamic to the nice background of sparse trees on the sidewalk, partially hiding the short, broad buildings. On the other side of the road, leaning against his car, arms crossed over his chest, was Edward.

I beamed, immediately turning, but slowly made my way across the road, beware of incoming traffic. He was smiling all the while, something I knew more than saw.

"Funny running into you here," I whispered, as soon as I was within earshot.

"I agree. Window shopping?"

"Something like that," I diverted, feeling awkward in my dress and heels. "Want to grab something to eat with me? If you're alone, that is," I concluded, not wanting to assume.

"I'm by myself," he confirmed. "It's the middle of the afternoon, haven't you had lunch yet?"

"I got distracted," I admitted.

"I'm not hungry, but I'll accompany you."

Together, we found a quaint little French coffee house. I ordered tea and pastries, and Edward shot me an annoyed look as we moved to sit by the window.

"That's not a meal," he scolded. "No wonder you're so slim."

The implication stung.

"I'm usually much better at taking care of my meals. So, what brought you to Portland?" I asked, trying to break through what remained of his once icy wall, now reduced to splinters.

He stared back at me long enough to make me wonder what he was looking for, but I didn't look away as I blew a breath over the tea, trying to cool it. He breathed in, closing his eyes and ending our little contest. Edward looked dazed as his answer came:

"I needed some fresh air... To distract myself. Having such a large family can be a bit overwhelming, at times." I took a bite of one of the pastries, still waiting for my tea to cool, mulling over his answer. "How about you?" he questioned, delicately following my movements.

I found some of the joy in having found him deflate.

"I had to take care of some practical issues surrounding my inheritance."

"Inheritance? Did something happen?"

I felt the familiar pull of mimicking the porcupine, closing myself around a truth I wanted no one to know about, a fragility at the very core of my being, both too personal and too painful to share. But I was so tired.

Maybe half the battle was already lost, as the many precautions I was taking were wearing me down. Or maybe that didn't matter.

For some reason, _not with him._

"My father passed away almost a year ago," I whispered, and took a sip of my tea. It had cooled just enough for me to drink.

"I'm sorry," Edward whispered. It was the most genuine ring I'd ever heard to the words, often repeated to me over the course of the last few months. Because he looked me in the eye.

"That's why I came back from London, in a way. I wanted to hold on to... something. And, not having any other family, returning home was the only other possibility."

Edward's golden eyes widened.

"You used to live in Forks?"

I nod.

"Up until I was ten years old. I'm staying at my old house. My Dad used to be the chief of police, we changed our names from Swan to Carter when we left."

He nodded back, even though I could tell he had questions to ask.

"How old are you, Bella?"

I wasn't expecting that one. I idly wondered if it would bother him.

"I'm nineteen years old. And I probably look at least every single one of them, dressed like this."

"I always thought you were older," he remarked, smiling, and I had a feeling, as I often did when it came to him, that most of his answers were the product of some internal joke.

Yet, I never felt mocked. I felt respected by him, more so than with anyone else, since Charlie's death.

"You can live a lot in a small expanse of time," I countered.

"How much have you lived?"

His voice was low and warm, and he was closer, the both of us having slowly closed in the small gap over the round table top.

"Too much. How much have you?" I pushed defiantly, excited about putting a dent on that shell of his.

"Right now, I think not enough," he threw back at me. Picking up on some of the looks we were getting, he leaned back on his chair. "Are you going back tonight? How?" he asked in succession, picking up on my nod as I chewed on my last piece of pastry.

"My car is still being fixed, back at Forks. I was thinking about a rental, but... This time of the day, I think I'll just ask the concierge to arrange for a cab."

"A cab ride all the way back to Forks? Four hours in deserted roads with a stranger?" He pretended not to see the amused look on my face as he continued: "Let me take you. This time, you can't just walk the distance, and I might be the lesser of two evils."

I agreed, seeing how serious and pained his concession was, putting him at ease.

Our walk back to the hotel waslittered with sarcasm filled comments, playful seriousness passing between us like a river between its margins. Natural, effortless, surrendering itself to the force that pulls it towards something larger.

My colorful bags were too many to fit in the trunk of the Volvo along with our weekend luggage, so the backseat was slowly but steadily covered in my loot. Edward just muttered something about his sister Alice as he refused to let me take the heavier ones. I shot him a dirty look, but he faked unawareness.

The inside of the car was warm and comfortable as soon as I stepped in, and I mentally cataloged the very few things strewn around that made it his. An orderly stack of CDs, alphabetically organized; a little notebook, unlike the ones he used for school, rested in the door pocket, along with a pen.

Very little, but very much Edward.

And, of course, no signs of food or beverages. Nothing out of place. Not even the customary speck of dirt.

I relaxed back on the seat, and, as soon as he slid beside me, the car purred to life. We were already out of Portland when I finally felt Edward relaxing beside me. Looking at the speedometer, I smirked.

"It seems you follow the 'do as I say, not as I do' motto, Mr. Driving Twice The Speed Limit," I joked, and he had the good sense to look ashamed.

"It's different, when you're the one driving. You know you're in control. I was only afraid for your safety."

I nodded, and decided to push him a little. As I twisted in my seat, trying to retrieve my bag from the backseat, I asked: "How about you? Where are you from?"

"Chicago," he voiced, mutely. It sounded like a tape, repeated to the point of exhaustion. "But we've moved around a lot since then, and finally settled in Forks about two years ago. What are you doing?"

"Putting some music on," I summarized, rummaging through my collection. I knew he was musically inclined, and, looking at the tittles of his CDs, I could tell he was also a musical snob. Shocking him a little seemed like a perfectly good way of finding out a little bit more. But I wouldn't let him divert the subject. "We, who, exactly? The whole family?"

I could see him struggling to answer, as if he was afraid to tell me the truth. But I didn't doubt that's what he gave me.

"Initially, it was just me and Carlisle. I was sick, and my parents were both dead, by the time he found me. He... managed to save me, and adopted me. Then came Esme, then Rosalie. Sometime later, Emmett, and, finally, Alice and Jasper, which was sort of a package deal."

_Now, now._

"I'm sorry to hear about your parents. So Alice and Jasper were already together when they joined the family," I stated, and he just nodded, seemingly distracted. "Well, that's odd."

My remark finally woke him.

"How is it odd?"

"Aren't Jasper and Rosalie supposedly twins?"

His impassive face twisted and he let out a quiet string of words, much too low for me to hear.

"That's the explanation we found as a way of making it easier, more acceptable to people. Most don't see my unconventional family with good eyes."

"And you just happened to slip up and tell me the truth, just now," I concluded, annoyed.

"No, Bella..." he started, and I was a little less angry because of the way he said my name. I couldn't help it. I could see his lips, such a dark, rich red, contrasting with his skin, perfectly forming the one word, and it appealed to me in a way that no term, in any language, ever had. "I want to be honest. There's just a lot about my family, a lot about _me_, that you're better off not knowing."

"Let me decide for myself. Tell me about it."

He gulped, slowly. Ever so slowly, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I want to, but maybe I'm too afraid of your reaction. And I'm not used to fear."

I shook my head as I saw him grip the steering wheel to an inch of its endurance, finally settling on the song I wanted, and linked my little mp3 player to the radio, careful not to cause the slightest scratch on the immaculate console. He was waiting for an answer, a comeback.

"Fear, like hurt, is a valuable emotion. It teaches, but only after you're through with it. But if it makes you feel any better, back then I shared something about myself that maybe a handful of people know. Maybe less."

"My past could be considered... unforgivable," he warned.

"So could mine," I settled. "Do you mind?"

With his agreement, music flowed out of the speakers.

It was harsh, seductive rock, in a gritty boyish voice, sweet and luring as he described his desire towards the girl, cold and mocking as he refused to surrender his love, but promised to give her what she really wanted before walking away.

I wasn't sure if Edward was paying the song the attention it deserved, caught up in looking at the small screen. I'd substituted the album art with an old photo.

Alexis and I were grinning, on either side of a mischievous looking Brian, her quasi-brother and my friend, as he stuck his tongue out to the photographer. I couldn't remember who that was.

_I looked so much younger. And it wasn't even that long ago._

"A tongue piercing," Edward muttered, examining the photo and locking his eyes on Brian. "Charming."

"It just gets in the way," I commented, flatly. Edward's head snapped to me fast enough to give him whiplash, and I had to really struggle to keep a straight face. "Of eating, I'm guessing," I added, and watched his shoulders slump back to their normal position. He was too much fun to play with.

Barely hearing another string of muttered words, I turned my attention to my feet, the swollen flesh stinging and hot where the leather had abused it the most. I moved my ankles around, trying to make myself a little more comfortable.

"Does that hurt?" I heard Edward ask, and I was somewhat shocked at how aware of my body, my every move, he was. "You should take them off," he whispered, his voice merely a sweet, pensive note.

I briefly weighed the pros and cons of a social _faux pas_ versus comfort, but that inner battle was short lived. Seconds later, my legs were curled under me, and I was able to rub my sore feet, letting myself feel just how tired I was.

"Thank you," I breathed, shifting my position to better accommodate my body in the small seat.

_And there it is. _Perfection.

I studied Edward's features, happy to observe him so at ease while he drove. It was a soothing sight.

The evergreen landscape was a steady background to our journey, and the soft purr of the engine, both felt and heard, only served to lull me.

"Where was the photo taken?" Edward asked, hastily changing songs as soon Smashing Pumpkins' Bullet With Butterfly Wings came on. Not a fan, I assumed.

"London, maybe two years ago. During my rebellious stage."

"You speak of it as if it's over," he pointed out.

"Oh, it is," I cut, flatly.

"Why did Charlie decide to change your family name? Why move there at all, and cause such a break with everything you knew? It had had to been hard for you, growing up."

I closed my eyes and sunk back in the leather seat. In that moment, I resented him for asking. I was very, very tired, and my natural instincts for discretion were back in place. So, I went for deflection.

"Eager to lick my wounds, are you?" I asked.

Edward's hands tightened around the wheel, and he was still, tense, for a very long time. I was afraid I'd offended him.

"More than I'm willing to admit," he finally answered, and, though I didn't understand, it came as a little confirmation that, whatever drew me to him, might draw him right back.

Both of us surrendering to our thoughts, I turned back to examine the landscape, much more open than back at Forks, feeling warm and protected.

I must have fallen asleep.

A subtle change of momentum led me back to semi-consciousness, groggy, to find us waiting for a traffic light to go green. I smiled at Edward, immediately shaking off the embarrassment of succumbing to exhaustion - not the guilt.

"I'm so sorry... You should have woken me, I'd volunteer to drive at least an hour or so, so you could rest," I half apologized, half scolded, rubbing my neck.

"That's fine," he assured me. "I'm not tired in the least."

The scenery had grown dark and angry around us, heavy drops of rain noisily hitting the hood and windows of the car. Looking at the time and that alone, as I wasn't able to see much, I estimated we were approaching Forks.

Still in the process of fully waking up, I snuggled under the coat Edward had undoubtedly covered me with - his coat - feeling warm and lazy.

"Did you at least sleep well?" he asked, his voice calm and soaked in amusement. Light. It suited him well.

"Very well, actually. This is a nice car to sleep in."

He chuckled.

"You're the first one to have ever slept in it, believe it or not."

We picked up conversation on our way back but, under half an hour, we were parked outside my house. I frowned, absorbed in the practical aspect of carrying all the bags in, relinquishing the warmth and the company.

I wasn't even able to ask him whether or not he had an umbrella before he took one from under his seat. In no time at all, he was standing by my open door, the big black structure stretching over him like a pair of joined bat wings. He then proceeded to accompany me in the house, and this time I was the one pretending not to notice his frown after I went to fetch an umbrella of my own to go help him carry the bags in. Not that he left me with a whole lot to carry.

"Stay for dinner," I hedged as he was depositing the last of the bags on the living room floor. "I'll cook something nice, involving chicken, rice and fresh vegetables."

"I really can't," he answered, seemingly genuinely sad. "My parents are probably waiting for me."

"Thank you for the ride home, then."

He nodded. Then it was silent, as he didn't move and I didn't step any closer to the door, the educated cue for «time to leave».

Instead, I stood before him, waiting for a question. Any question.

"You trust me."

_Not a question._

"I do," I reinforced, flatly and unnecessarily.

"Why? What do you see in me, that out of everyone you know... it's me you trust?"

_There it is._

"I don't know, Edward. I just do. You've proven worthy of it thus far."

"I've warned you otherwise, but you don't seem to listen," he hissed, harshly.

"I have no reason to listen to empty words."

His eyes _burned _to charred coals as I watched.

"They're not empty. And that's probably the one thing about me you can trust."

Sighing, I went to sit against the armrest of my couch, staring in his black eyes all the while.

"And yet, you don't stay away. You could. It's your choice, but you won't make it. Why should I?"

"You could be smart. Be stronger than I've been."

_So it takes strength you don't have, then?_

"I'm enough of those both. But, as you've pointed out before, I'm also reckless," I countered. "The only real question, Edward, is whether or not you want to be trusted."

This seemed to shake him. His heavy presence seemed to falter, and for a second he shrunk to the seventeen year old he so seldom resembled.

"I do. But I don't know if I can be... that man."

"That's good enough for me. Trying is the best anyone can do," I smiled. It was settled.

As long as he wanted my trust, he'd have it. I couldn't possibly fathom anything that would shake it.

He smiled, timid edging on cocky, and turned to leave. Seconds later, I could barely make out the Volvo as it pulled away, mere yards away from where I stood, as the thick curtain of rain blocked me from seeing Edward's expression.

Later that night, I was still sorting through the bags as I heard a loud crash bellow my bedroom.

_There's someone in my kitchen._

An emotion I hadn't known in a very long time, fear, took hold of me. I had never felt so vulnerable as I felt then, alone in a dark house, rain pouring from the skies. Heavy rain that would muffle my cries for help, even if there was any neighbors to hear them.

_Snap out of it, Bella._

Regulating my breath to manage the rush of adrenaline and relying on my vision and hearing, I left my room, slowly, trying my hardest to step forward silently. Before I was fully out, I grabbed my lamp, steadying it in my hand. Its brass base and stem could do some damage if I swung it against an attacker.

I made it down the steps as slowly as my restraint allowed, and finally made the turn to step into the kitchen.

_Remember what Charlie used to say. Go for the nose or the gut._

But, as the room came into full view, I could see there was no one there. I set the lamp on top of the counter immediately, confused. The window wasn't broken, and the little slit I'd left open surely wasn't enough to let anyone through. But plates and pots I'd left to dry on the counter were on the floor, tipped over or in pieces, so I knew something had disturbed them.

The little _something _revealed itself seconds later.

"_Meow_."

The faint cry came from under the table, and I bent down to stare into the green eyes of a soaked and scared-looking little cat. He was curled over one of the kitchen chairs, and had certainly jumped in the window looking for shelter. I could hear myself sighing.

"Hey, little guy."

As much as I tried, I couldn't coax the little animal out of its hideout, so I powered up my laptop to find recipes for cat food. I couldn't very well just open a tuna can, and running out to the store that hour of the night didn't sound so good either.

Warm food seemed to do the trick, and the cat - which, after an equally warm bath he wasn't so fond of, I could see was stripped grey and white - scouted the house, finally installing himself on the foot of my bed for sleep.

I smiled. He trusted me, in spite of his natural instincts that told him otherwise.

_And that's not the full extent of our similarities either, kitty. We're a couple of strays, you and I._

A couple of strays who found someone they could trust.


	10. Anger Management

**A/N: Thank you all so much for all the support sent my way, it warms my heart.**

I might be the story's mommy, but Auntie Pippapear helps with keeping the chappies pristine and their creator sane. She holds my undivided gratitude for both, and just her awesomeness in general.

Enjoy! ;)

_Two Years Ago_

My body was flowing effortlessly, moving slowly but steadily at the rhythm that the speakers, propped against the walls, were generating. I drew in a stuttered breath, eyes closed, just amazingly aware of the electricity running over my skin, the hot sweat covering my arms, long ago lifted above my head as I danced in between the other bodies.

That's all we were, jam packed that way. A sea of bodies, undulating, looking for proximity or space. There were no conversations, just laughter; no stories to tell, as we were all experiencing a new story all in itself.

I tried getting near the fringes of the crowd so I could get a cold drink when I felt an unwanted arm on my shoulder.

_Oh, well. Tonight was going too well to be true._

I turned to see some disgruntled male form, barely distinct under the non-existent light, trying to talk to me. As if I'd be able to hear him over the noise, or be minimally interested in his words. Before I could mimic some form of «no, thank you», I felt a rupture to the left of where I stood, as one fearless element of the monstrous party violently broke his way to me.

I didn't need for it to be brighter to identify who it was. The scrawny body and angled profile left me with no room for error.

And, just as I'd come to expect, with a hint of alarm and a whole lot of amusement, he stepped right up to the guy whose hand was still on my shoulder, though he was, quite literally, twice his size.

"Back off, you wanker!", Brian shouted, powerfully enough to trump even the speakers for a short period of time. This statement, coupled with a strong shove and elbow to the ribs, made the other guy stumble back to the murky waters where the teenagers were drowning in alcohol and mindless music.

Not that there was anything wrong with that.

I could tell Brian still wanted to go after his target, so I got hold of one of his sleeves and pulled him to me, close enough for him to feel my words as I held his ear to my mouth:

"B, come on, forget it, let's just go up to your room."

He frowned, still fired up, but nodded, and we grabbed our drinks and finally made our way to the upper level of the house, otherwise known as the «restricted area».

I wouldn't have accepted his behavior had I not known its exact motivation. He wanted to take care of me and make sure I was okay. Too often, we'd hear stories amidst our friends or acquaintances, stories of girls who were preyed upon. Much too often.

I wasn't a possession of his, and wouldn't be even if that were the nature of our relationship. I couldn't and wouldn't be owned. My freedom was everything to me, especially as the ridge between me and Charlie grew. But the only two people in the world that kept me sane and intact, even as my own instinct begged and shouted for self-destruction, were Alexis and Brian.

Of course he could have handled things differently, but he was a hot headed, impulsive mess. At first sight, he'd pass for a skinny geek with a passion for vintage clothes. But soon enough you'd see his need for affirmation, the spark of violent impulse that seemed to always run through his veins, just waiting for something to ignite it.

We slipped inside his spartan bedroom, and I wondered why he kept it so bare. Save for a wall covered in posters, testimonies to performances past, there was nothing but furniture. Not one knick-knack on display.

"Fuckers will upturn the furniture if you let them, but I'm not up for playing babysitter tonight," he muttered, breaking conversation as we leaned on the ledge of the small window to overlook the city at our feet.

He was volatile to begin with, but something had stirred him, I could tell. He was downing vodka like it was water, a very uncharacteristic thing for him to do. I took hold of his glass, still half full, and sniffed its contents as a means of distracting him.

"This is absolute crap," I sneered, setting it down. I'd considered taking a sip of it myself - if nothing else, for it to be one less sip he took - but quickly changed my mind.

"What's wrong with it?" he frowned, smelling it himself. I'd succeeded in distracting him, even if by insulting the booze he was offering at his own party. Others wouldn't get away with it.

"Good vodka is odorless. That reeks of hospital grade alcohol."

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, back to furious. "What the hell are you drinking, anyway?" I showed him my flute, quirking an eyebrow at his amused expression. "Champagne? Are you serious?"

"This one is actually very decent indeed, I brought it myself, and it won't get me drunk anywhere near as fast as the shots Alexis was downing earlier."

"Where the hell is she, anyway?" he added, as a side note.

"I'm pretty sure she's still monopolizing the kitchen."

Alexis _loved _pretending she was a bartender. She was no good at it, and only created disgusting mixtures she'd end up drinking herself. That was the reason we'd find her wasted halfway through the party, most nights.

I got out my pack of thin, black cigarettes, catching Brian's nod in my peripheral vision, and swiftly lit one of them. The mixture of good tobacco and dry champagne was sweet on my tongue and acidic at the back of my mouth, and, after taking a couple of long pulls, I was completely relaxed.

I then handed it to my friend, catching him staring at me. I just gave him a smile as he mimicked my quirks, taking his time watching the smoke rise from his mouth and disappear into thin air.

He wasn't handsome in the classical sense. His shoulders were too narrow, and there was no definition to his awkward body. He could be inspiring on stage, letting go of his anger through the notes flowing out of his guitar, but that was it. Out of it, he was just another boy, too small and with too many freckles to be taken seriously, even if his temper told another story.

Still, I'd liked him from the first time we met. There was something to his anger, to the passion he had for his music, that drew me in. I wasn't naive enough not to recognize the looks he sometimes gave me, and I knew we had a solid bond as friends.

But it never happened. Maybe we missed our moment, or maybe we hadn't matured enough to get to it.

Standing beside him, leaning on the ledge of that window with my naked elbows on cold, white stone, left me wondering. As I had many times before.

Trying to break us both out of our musings, I probed for details, as he seemed more calm.

"What are you pissed about?"

He knew better than to dismiss me.

"It's just... Rich, that fucker, he's got vocals, and he did do a lot of the work on the new track, but I was the one working with the guitar. I did _all _of it, and the wanker didn't give me any credit in the meeting with our manager."

I shook my head. They _needed _Rich, he was very good with composing and an awesome singer. Easy on the eyes, too, which helped with the fan base. No way they could kick him out.

So I was stuck with a pissed off Brian, which was worse than holding an unpinned grenade, and watch him suffer through an injustice. _I don't think so._

"I say we teach the bastard a lesson," I muttered, grabbing the remainders of my cigarette from an wide-eyed Brian. "Is he downstairs?"

"Yeah..." my friend acquiesced, eyebrows knitting as he tried to follow my train of thought.

"So his stuff is downstairs, too."

"His jacket is in the closet by the door... What are you concocting, B?"

I smiled deviously at him.

"He messed with your baby, B. He messed with your music. So I'm going to mess with _his _baby," I explained, and his eyes glinted from over those freckles, letting me know he understood. "Be outside with Alexis in five, I don't care how much of a fight she puts up, just make sure she's proper."

In two minutes, I was downstairs, making my way around the dancing teens to get to that built-in closet unseen. No one noticed me as I slipped out a striped coat and searched for a set of keys. Most of them didn't know me, most of those who did couldn't even see me through the haze of smoke, alcohol and noise.

"This better be good," Alexis shouted, trembling a little as we gathered outside. The night was cold; she'd dressed for a warm party. I was just happy she wasn't too messed up.

"It will be. Get in," I motioned, unlocking Rich's pride and joy. The Mercedes gleamed, even in the poor light the street lamps provided. Brian started laughing out loud, and immediately slipped into the driver's seat after I tossed him the keys.

Alexis asked for a detailed account of the events, which Brian provided, though he was now more amused then pissed.

And even she would admit it was worth it, a couple of hours later, as the freshly bought cans of cheap spray paint helped us elevate the expensive car to an ambulant mural. I was quite proud of it.

Rich, and, more precisely, Rich's parents, didn't think it was so funny. We were unlucky that he wanted to call it an early night, or we'd have been long gone by the time he realized the keys and respective vehicle were missing.

As things were, the three _amigos _ended their night at the local police station.

Our arrest was still being processed as I heard _his_ voice, and shot my friends an apologetic look. Brian waved me off and Alexis mouthed an «well worth it», so I knew they wouldn't be overly upset about staying for a few more hours before their respective parents showed up.

The officer escorted me out and I had to stand for another hour as Charlie, white as the plaster wall, thanked the good law enforcers for the courtesy of calling him after my arrest. After working as a private investigator in London, in between our trips, he'd made friends with a lot of people.

This prevented me from ever having to sleep in jail. I didn't even have a record, which was quite disappointing. Brian's rap sheet was impressive even before we met.

It was well after seven when we finally got home, and all I wanted was a shower and some sleep. But, of course, Charlie wouldn't let it go.

I would have walked out on him, but I wasn't completely immune at seeing a ghost of the man staring at me in disappointment.

"Bella, what were you thinking?"

_That's original._

"Not that this will make a difference, but the owner of the car actually deserved it. Don't worry, I'll pay for the new coat of paint myself."

"That's not the point, you can't do something like this just because you know you can get out of it, just because you can pay..." he trailed off, rubbing his temples. "You were drunk, you and all of your friends, and I don't even want to know who drove the car, who painted it, or whose idea it was. Reckless endangerment, driving under the influence, theft, destruction of private property..."

"I wasn't drunk, I had _a _drink..."

"That's not the point!" he yelled, practically clawing out tufts of his hair. "You're not this girl, Bella... This isn't my daughter. This... sort of behavior isn't yours. I should have known something was off the first time something happened, in Paris, with that kid... I wish I could understand, but I can't. You stopped respecting me, being honest with me, and all I can do is pick you up from jail. Sometimes, I just wonder if it wouldn't help to just let you spend the night there..."

His words stung, mainly because there was some truth in them. The clearest proof of his belief that I wasn't being myself was my guilt.

A brainless, rich and spoiled teenager wouldn't feel guilty about hurting her father. I did.

"You want to talk about honesty? About being who we used to be for each other?" I spat, crying tears of anger. "What was the money for?"

"What?" he asked, his head snapping up to me. He looked so tired, sitting on our couch, that I almost backed off.

"After Italy... I dug through our accounts. You withdrew a quarter of a million dollars and there's no trace of it. What was it for? Why did we have to rush away from Naples and why have you been so secretive about it?"

My questions shocked him from disappointment to a sort of anger that matched my own.

"You had no business going through our accounts!"

I took one step back, but kept my eyes locked with his so he knew I wasn't backing out.

"What happened to being _honest _with each other, Charlie?! What happened to doing everything together, thinking things through as a unit?!"

He dropped his gaze to the ground.

_Dad, talk to me. Explain it to me. Make me believe in what we used to have as a family._

"I'm revoking your access to our accounts. You'll have your allowance, as always... Just no real access to transactions. Not until the year after you turn eighteen. I don't need you handling finances, especially since you've decided to act as an irresponsible brat, of late."

His cold statement sliced, and my arms went limp beside my body. He left the living room and I heard the door of his bedroom shutting quietly after him.

I sat down on the space he'd left vacant, going through my mind to find a justification - anything - that could make my father's secrecy acceptable. Anything.

_This is such a mess. _Each sunrise lit the growing gaping hole between us, exposing its crevices, oozing and reeking, infected with lies and omissions.

But the night was mine for me to hide in.


	11. Turf Wars

**I'm very lucky to have all of you as my readers! Even luckier that auntie pippapear seems to appreciate my craziness and wordvomit as much as I do her input.**

**Enjoy!**

Monday morning was brighter and fresher than one would expect, not cold. The heavy rain had cleaned away the mud and remnants of snow, and the air was, once more, charged with the smells and sounds of a windy Autumn.

I was in a particularly good mood, in spite of being awakened in the middle of the night by the little cat's cries as it scurried out of my bedroom, probably scared of the storm.

As I took my time drinking my tea and staring out the window, the sound of a familiar engine broke through my reverie, and I smiled to myself. I hadn't actually been expecting him - it was refreshing to see I wasn't the only one making an effort.

I opened the door and took a peek outside, trying to make sure my mind wasn't tricking me.

But there he was, standing by his car, the picture perfect of rigid nervous energy, if there was such a thing.

"Good morning," I greeted, releasing my hair from under my short jacket's collar, bag in one hand. "Offering me a ride to school?"

"If you'll take it," he muttered, looking inside the house with a set frown. Then he shook his head, and seemed to remember his manners. "Good morning, Bella. Hope you don't mind me showing up unannounced..."

"That's fine. I'm grateful, actually, it was sweet of you to remember," I acknowledged, my smile persisting, trying to shake away whatever gloom had taken over Edward as I slipped inside the car. His eyes were a darker shade, I noticed. "Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly. My siblings are constantly trying to insert themselves in matters that don't concern them," he explained, with ease, and the change in demeanor wasn't lost in me. He paused briefly to go around the car and occupy the driver's seat before continuing the conversation. "Rosalie's driving everyone to school, today."

"I don't want to be a cause for disagreement..." I started, but he waved me off.

"Of course not, they just need to learn to mind their own business. It's about time I had... a life of my own."

His stance contradicted him, and my concern for the steering wheel's endurance was very much justified. I got him to relax as soon as I reigned the conversation in.

I found it was easy to coax more out of him while discussing music, but, soon enough, his curiosity won out.

"That photo of yours... Why did you use it as the album cover?"

"Well... My friend Brian, the one with the tongue piercing, was the band's guitar player. I usually attended his performances with his sister, Alexis."

"He's good," he offered, bitterly. "Did you play any instruments?" he asked, his interest piqued.

"Not really," I cackled, remembering a couple of failed attempts at playing bass. "My sole contribution to the band was drawing the album cover."

"The one you substituted," he pointed out, smirking.

_Oh, so you think I'm shy?_

"I'll draw for you, anytime," I assured him.

His eyes flashed to mine, and I could see gleeful surprise stretching over his face. It warmed me to know I was the cause of it.

"I'll make sure you keep that promise."

"I might insist on a private piano session, though. In the interest of fairness, you can't witness my talent, or lack thereof, and keep yours to yourself."

_Well, in my defense, «private piano session» didn't sound as suggestive in my mind._

"In the interest of fairness," he agreed_, _genuinely smiling, but looking away.

Soon enough, we were entering the High School parking lot, and I was witness to the moment when it all changed.

Edward's whole body stiffened, and his head snapped, his eyes scouting the opposite end of the lot.

A moment later, I did the same myself, and felt my own skin being drained of blood.

Jacob stood alongside two other Quilleute boys, scouring the incoming students. I didn't know what he was doing there, but, at that moment, I didn't really care. I might have opened up to Edward, but my willingness to let everyone in on my past hadn't increased.

Being seen with Jacob could only be made worse by another damning circumstance, something that would somehow attract even more attention to myself.

Like catching a ride to school with Edward Cullen.

I sighed, not leaving the car, and neither did Edward. Unfortunately, we were spotted by Jacob anyway - and he nodded, gesturing me to approach him.

"I think he wants to talk to you," Edward muttered, his voice dripping with venom. "Another hound trying to hump your leg, I see."

The surprise of hearing the crude words pass his lips nearly threw me off, and I laughed.

"I wouldn't call it that... I have to go handle this," I stated, delaying the explanation, as I moved to open the door.

The boy beside me didn't even look my way. He kept his eyes trained on the Quilleutes as he muttered a terse "I'll wait."

"That's okay, you can run along and make it to first period."

"I'll wait," he reinforced, still not looking at me.

Oddly feeling like some negotiator in the middle of a hostage situation, I crossed the unnaturally silent parking lot. Though not completely comfortable with the on-lookers, I was close to mastering the ability to ignore them. Who said High School isn't a useful experience?

Jacob was waiting for me, smiling brightly in spite of his friends' scowls. I was stunned to realize that he no longer stood out among the built young men. In fact, he seemed to have matured significantly in one week.

_That's one hell of a growth spurt right there._

"Good morning," I nodded, in general, though it was clear only Jacob wanted to address me. The other two's body language was odd, as if they were playing bodyguards - intimidating and cold. A second later, I realized they were indeed _trying _to act that part, though I had no idea who they were targeting. Not me, as they spat out some sort of grunt-like greeting in my general direction. "What's this about?"

"It's nice to see you," he started, and seemed at a loss for words for a few seconds. "Listen, I wanted to come up here myself... I don't have much time, I should be in school too," Jacob smiled, "but Billy was really worried about you."

I frowned.

"Well, I was worried about you," he corrected, "because there are some rumors going around. That you're friends with the Cullens."

I had to unlock my jaw long enough to form an answer.

"I haven't actually spoken to any of the other Cullens but, as you can see, I'm a friend of Edward's."

Alarm flashed through Jacob's eyes, and he stepped closer, unconsciously or not.

"Bella, you should really stay away from them. All of them. I know we haven't been around each other for a long time but I still had to warn you. That guy... he's trouble," he got out, eyes wide and inching himself closer to me, as if that would add emphasis to his words.

My anger threatened to boil over but I reeled it in, reminding myself of the great mood I'd been in just an hour before, of the windy morning still held in whispers all around us, and the boy waiting for me inside a silver car.

"I don't know what you have against the Cullens, but, whatever it is, it obviously doesn't affect me," I stated, and he cut in before I could say any more.

"You're making a mistake," the young boy tried, raising his voice, panicking. _Does he honestly consider them a threat? _"They can't be trusted, especially not him. They're not even allowed in the reservation, but he went there anyway..."

"Black," one of the others scolded, trying to shut him up.

"What do you mean, they're not _allowed_?" I asked, immediately picking up on the silent conversation flowing between the three boys, certain there was more to it.

"Just... know that we're looking out for you, Bella. Like I said before, our doors will always be open."

_Did these kids fall on their heads while watching The Godfather?_

I showed Jacob the respect of looking him in the eyes as I answered.

"I have a habit of drawing my own conclusions about people, and trusting my own judgment over others'. So even if you _do _have a reason to think ill of the Cullen family, I will still have to see it for myself. And like I said before, Jacob... We might have been family ten years ago, but ten years is a very long time. I don't need your protection, just as I don't need this distorted spotlight you're pulling me under. I'd appreciate it if you showed me the respect of hearing what I say." I finally stopped, realizing I'd let the anger boil over. Jacob seemed sad as the others looked at me, eyebrows raised. "I hope Billy is doing well," I added, a note that wasn't actually that redeeming.

I walked away, ignoring the clatter of my boots on the wet pavement. The parking lot was silent, but now rightfully so, as first period had already started. True to his word, Edward was waiting for me by the school gate, with less than wide open arms.

"You knew him," he stated as soon as I came up to him, as more of an accusation.

"Yes; we used to play as children. He was like... My little brother, back then," I explained. "Our fathers were friends and fishing buddies, both raising us without a mother."

"What did he tell you?"

I had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"Jacob tried to make some argument about how I shouldn't trust your family - especially not you. Do you have any idea why he'd say that?"

My words hung in the air for much too long.

"He had no right," Edward _snarled, _his voice barely audible.

I stared at him in disbelief, seeing a side of him I wasn't used to. I'd grown to think of him as a gentle, albeit withdrawn boy, but his darker side was winning the battle.

It reminded me of the day we first met, and it was unsettling. I gripped the lush strand of silk, still tied to my bag, as I struggled to make sense of the situation.

"If he ever bothers you again, let me know. Either him or the boys he hangs out with," he continued, and, for the second time in a very short time span, I could have punched something.

_Must be the water._

"I don't know what possessed either of you to warn me against each other, but I'll tell you what I told him. I build my own opinions about people. Come to think of it, I wouldn't be walking beside you if I didn't," I pointed out, lashing out and hurting, just enough to make my point.

It worked. I could see him cringe, the glowing embers in his eyes turning into something more tamed.

I just looked into them before turning to the building where my first class was being held, though I knew I'd only catch about a quarter of an hour.

Throughout the morning, it became apparent that no one had really noticed me talking to Jacob over the whispers that my arrival in the silver Volvo caused. Which was both good and very, very bad news.

My foul mood didn't pick up and I knew myself well enough to know that, if someone crossed me, there would be no hope for refrain.

As soon as I picked up a plastic tray to stand in line for lunch, I could tell it would be Lauren.

Even though her own tray was already on our table, being guarded by her faithful minion, Jessica, she'd approached Angela with a distinctive sneer in the shape of a smile, wore like some badge of honor.

_You have no idea how it's done, do you?_

"So, Angie, how was the dance? I wouldn't worry about it, maybe Ben just isn't the dancing type."

I looked at the quiet girl as she turned green, eyes cast to the floor, mumbling something under her breath. My blood turned from simmering to roaring and I stepped forward, my movements turned slow by the control of premeditation.

"Hi, Lauren."

I smirked as I stared at her, two feet away, cooly working my way up from the cheap heels to the overly-processed hair. By the time I was through, she was a shifty mess about to break into a sweat.

_And that's how you do it._

"You can go ahead, we'll join you in a few minutes."

She scurried off as if her much too short skirt had caught on fire.

"Thanks," Angela sighed, ladening her tray with pizza.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" I whispered, being as discreet as possible while picking through the salad containers.

"Some... idiot made some comment about us looking like David and Goliath... And he freaked out. Spent the rest of the dance downing punch with Yorkie."

I shook my head.

"Did he apologize yet?"

"It doesn't matter," she countered. "If he doesn't like me enough to dance with me in spite of a snarky comment, he's not worth it, right?"

I thought the question was entirely rhetorical.

"Bella?"

"Um, sorry... Yes, of course, I agree."

"No, not that. I think Edward is waiting for you," she stated, looking over her shoulder in a mix of surprise and awe.

"Why would you say that?" I asked, bitterly.

"Well, he's sitting there, looking straight at you. All by himself."

I never claimed I was perfect, or, for that matter, invulnerable, when it came to him. I turned my body towards the right corner of the cafeteria, following Angela's gaze, and, sure enough, there he was, not accompanied by any siblings for, quite possibly, the first time.

Sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back, searching for my eyes while ignoring all the others'. At a table for two.

_Alright. Apology accepted._


	12. Draw Me A Picture

**Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all the support sent my way, unfortunately I didn't get a chance to answer all of your reviews but will try to do a better job with it in the future.**

**Pippapear is my one and only fic-ticious love, even if einfach_mich makes me think about cheating... Just a little :)  
**  
By Friday, my days were again marked by a pattern - a brand new pattern, but one all the same.

Going to school with Edward was no longer a necessity, as my renewed and gleaming black Ford was back in its spot in the driveway, but that didn't stop him from picking me up, and didn't stop me from wanting him to do so.

At lunch, even in the middle of all the other students, we were able to forget. Forget everything and anything and just talk about topics ranging from inventors, painters and music to history and science. It was a wonderful fantasy we got to live, within the simplicity and richness of deep words whispered over the sound of the rain hitting the roof of the cafeteria, as if there were no other voices - demanding, critiquing, examining. We'd pull each other out of the limelight by the sheer force of our denial because between us, early as it was, acceptance existed.

It was the best hour of my day.

Biology was long and hard to endure, especially since we were often working as partners on things we already knew. Sometimes I just wanted to break him out of that class altogether and ask him to drive me somewhere far away. Running from reality was, after all, my signature move.

The only difference was I didn't want to run _from _him, but _with _him. So we could just keep on talking, so I could discover him some more.

Of course, these were just daydreams.

As I stepped away from the cashier, tray in hand, en route to our table, I told myself I'd just appreciate the next hour to its fullest and then endure Biology while trying to absorb some piece of Edward's that I could keep with me over the weekend.

His first words as I approached him surprised me, though.

"Tell me all about your past."

Buying time, I made a fuss out of getting comfortable in the small chair.

"Why the sudden interest?"

"It's not sudden," he clarified, smiling softly. "I just think we've been getting to know each other's opinions... But skirting around really talking about ourselves."

I opened and closed my mouth, facing the tabletop, and finally decided on getting a pencil and sketchbook from inside my bag. I'd been dreading said conversation, for many a reason, but he was right.

"Alright. Ask anything you want... But afterwards I get to do the same," I agreed, chuckling nervously, and took a peek over his shoulder.

The rest of the Cullens, not eating their lunch at a distant corner of the cafeteria, seemed completely oblivious to our existence, except for Alice. She mouthed a "Hi" as I was looking, and I returned the gesture.

In the meanwhile, Edward spoke:

"I'll answer your questions to the best of my ability." I narrowed my eyes at him. "I won't lie," he guaranteed, and I concentrated on the blank page before me, ignoring my lunch, silently giving him his overture. "Where were you born?

"You're definitely going for the jugular," I remarked, and his face contorted for a second before returning to polite interest.

I told him of my parent's lightning wedding and its short duration, resulting in me. A product that didn't keep Renee from leaving my father high and dry when I was barely six months old.

As I spoke, mechanically, I lent my hand the focus. _No, her eyes are farther apart... And her cheekbones are softer._

"I'm sorry if this sounds crass, but Charlie was a police officer. Your inheritance..."

"Isn't exactly my inheritance though, technically, since Charlie passed away, it is now. My father had an uncle, an army man with no descendants. He'd promised to help around during my dad's childhood, and he didn't, so I guess his last act of redemption was to leave all of his earthly possessions to his nephew."

_She was turned to her left with her elbows slightly bent..._

"When was this?"

"I think I was about six," I clarified, looking up from the drawing to see Edward leaning over the table, his food completely forgotten - a habit, for him.

"Can I ask...?"

I didn't let him finish.

"Enough for us to live comfortably on the interest alone."

Edward looked pensive after that.

"So there was Charlie, a twenty-five year old man raising me all by himself in Forks... You'd think he'd buy the whole town, right?" I joked, and turned once more to the drawing. "He didn't. We didn't get a bigger house, or a better car. Charlie didn't quit his job, and I kept going to school. Everything went on almost exactly as it had."

"But why?"

"Why not?" I countered. "My father used to say that buying things we truly didn't need was just wasteful. That the need, the desire to have better and bigger things was just the product of pettiness. Of taking pleasure in others' envy of our good fortune."

_I need to translate it in light and darker shadows, but not heavy... There's a lightness to her shape..._

"Your father sounds like a wise man," Edward remarked, and I swallowed, not looking up from the drawing, but nodding firmly. As much as I gulped, I couldn't swallow the ball of knots residing in my throat, the infectious sickness of regret. "Still, as a little girl... You must have wanted better things."

"Charlie was always worried about our safety," I explained, "and he presented a good case. If we let anyone know we were that wealthy, we'd be putting ourselves in danger. He was afraid we'd be preyed upon. That someone might try to harm me."

"Very wise man," the boy in front of me remarked, and I consciously registered what I'd known for a long time: Edward, very much like Charlie, had an overprotective streak to him. "But it must have been hard for you, living isolated. Hiding a secret."

_The locks of hair are jagged, overlapping... Meant to look as if they're frenzied._

"Not really. I understood my father's concerns, and I made it my job, as a good daughter, to do as he asked."

"You found no use in this inheritance?" he insisted, over the sound of my scraping pencil.

I smiled.

"I didn't say that. Having money offers you... safety, and the chance for adventure. On one side, it's wonderful to know that I'll never be stuck in a job I don't like for money. That everything I might need can be taken care of. On the other, I'm free to do as I wish. That freedom is reason enough to pursue wealth. Probably the only good reason at all."

"But you didn't spend it?"

"I didn't say that either," I countered again, and set the drawing face down, sensing his stare, and knowing that it was killing him that he couldn't see it. He'd grown more and more curious by the day, regarding me and my drawing abilities both. But the present took a back seat to the memories that came rushing to me - some real, some snapshots that Charlie had taken with his old Polaroid camera. "We traveled," I supplied, finally. "We'd go away for one or two weeks at a time and visit places we'd only heard or read about. It was... amazing. I learned so much about my father. He was an avid reader, probably because, with me to take care of, he never got to go to College."

"Where did you go?"

I smiled widely in pain and nostalgia to tell him: "Everywhere. I think I'd visited every continent but Antarctica by the time I was twelve."

"Sounds like you were happy back then," he noted, and I wondered if it really was that evident in comparison. I wondered if it was just him, with his watchful attention, or if anyone could see it, just by looking at me - the image of a girl who'd known real happiness only to sink in the reverse of it later. Nothing but memories to hold on to. "Why did you leave town, if everything was going well?" Edward continued, probably thinking he wouldn't get an answer otherwise.

"Forks will be Forks," I started, my voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt. "People started talking. Everyone knew we were alone in the world, so, as our trips got more frequent, we couldn't come up with a good excuse to cover for our disappearances. Charlie talked to me about it, and we both agreed it was for the best to move to a bigger city. We'd been to London, we loved it there... So we went back for good."

"At ten years of age, you helped your father with that decision?" he insisted, leaning on his elbows, something in the realm of fascination taking over his face.

"We decided everything together."

_Until the day we didn't._

Edward was ready for more questions, I could tell, but I couldn't keep going. It was harder than I thought - reducing my past into simple words in short phrases while trying to quell the desire, the burning need to go back and do everything differently.

So I got up, and the boy in front of me seemed to lose his North as I did.

"Where are you going? Lunch hour isn't over for another twenty minutes."

"I'm not hungry. Walk with me," I pleaded, without plastering a fake smile, a cruelty he didn't deserve.

As we left the packed room, with teenagers spreading to the sides to let us pass - a mass that I'd learned to think of as solid wooden gates, unfeeling and sightless - I felt Edward's hand on my lower back.

Though taken by surprise, I found myself enjoying the contact as he seemed to predict with astonishing accuracy the exact moment one of the freshmen stumbled in front of me, saving me from crashing into him.

Once out in thecorridor, his hand slipped away from its spot and his eyes searched for mine as I went to lean against one of the lockers.

"I'm sorry if I pushed you," he told me, quietly.

"You didn't... I'm just out of practice when it comes to talking about myself," I replied, knowing he wasn't referring to his own touch. "Here."

I handed him the drawing I'd worked on during our conversation, and, as minutes ticked away, I just observed his golden eyes as they roamed it, undoubtedly recognizing his own sister.

"You captured Alice so well," he finally acknowledged, eyes flicking to me with that same look on his face. "Her innocence, confidence and playfulness are all here. Can I show this to her?"

"Of course, I just hope she likes it. I'd do a better job with proper pencils and color..."

"I like it this way. Raw and unfinished. Beautiful and haunted."

_Is he still talking about the drawing?_

The corridor was empty, but, even it it hadn't been, we'd still be alone. Notwithstanding the small gap between us, there was something about being between him and a hard surface that made me gulp, and something screamed louder than my thoughts. My own blood. _Come closer, I won't bite._

The sensation, though hard to comprehend, was a sickening pleasure that came with simply being near him - it had probably always been there, surfacing with proximity.

And, certainly not for the first time, I wondered what was it. What was it that made him so different from anyone I'd ever met. That made me sure I'd never find someone remotely resembling him.

"Do I get to ask the questions now?" I asked, quietly, trying to regain some measure of control.

His curious eyes, always so ready to take in, flashed, and he recoiled.

"There's not much time," he nearly whispered, without looking at his watch. "Maybe when I take you home?"

I nodded and we made our way to the chamber of torture. That's Biology for the rest of them.

His chair was nearly touching mine, but we still tried to concentrate as best as we could - we honestly did. But the class theme was respiration, and I couldn't even focus on breathing.

I thought about getting my sketchbook out, but then he'd just hover over my shoulder, trying to take a peek, making it even harder to appear as though I was listening.

So I settled for whispering him a question:

"What's playing on your mind?"

He genuinely grinned, just a cute boy being cocky, and whispered back his answer:

"Pink Floyd's Another Brick In The Wall."

I had to suppress a loud snort, as Mr. Banner had us on his radar already.

_We don't need no education, indeed._

After trying anything short of building paper airplanes to distract ourselves, the bell finally rang.

Then, the tension was worse.

The curtain was falling on the week we'd spent together, and the anticipation of separation was a barrier all in itself. I could have asked him questions during the short car ride, but I was busy observing him and the world as he was with me.

As I mulled this over, feet tucked under me on the comfortable seat, his phone rang briefly to signal a text.

"Do you want me to check that?" I asked, politely unmoving, letting him know it was an offer out of courtesy, not curiosity.

"No, that's okay; it's probably just Alice."

Two minutes later, it rang again. And again.

"Definitely Alice," Edward told me as he turned onto my driveway, driving maniacally as usual. Good thing I liked the speed.

He seemed to hesitate, looking straight ahead and gripping the wheel. I was tempted to put down a new one on my short Christmas list for him.

"How about we do something tomorrow? Whatever you'd like. Maybe a movie?"

I was actually a little insulted that he suggested something so mundane.

"I don't think so, I'd prefer something physical instead," I smiled, throwing him off for a second. "Hiking would be nice."

"I know some good trails, and I can bring the gear."

As we were setting the time, his phone chirped yet again, and he looked apologetic.

"You should probably head home. We'll have time for questions tomorrow."

"I have time for one now," Edward hedged, looking like he was stuffing his hand in a fish tank full of piranhas.

And there was one question that wouldn't take much time, or require a follow-up. One that he could give a simple answer to.

"What do you want from me, Edward?"

He grew serious and upset, and, for the first time, he actually _stuttered._

"I don't want... it's not as if I don't want anything to do with you, all I'm saying is, I'll accept... I'll be fine with... whatever you're fine with. Even if it's what we have now, something entirely platonic."

I shook my head, feeling my own curls bounce against my temples, wanting to laugh.

But wanting to do something else even more.

The collar of his button down shirt, impeccably straight as always, screamed to be fisted and held. It felt smooth in my hand as I tugged on a very shocked Edward, getting closer to close down the distance.

I took a breath as we got nearer, and it didn't escape me that he wasn't cooperating nor fighting me. Just letting go. I looked in his eyes - golden still, but swirling to something darker. Of all things, it was his _scent _that make me balk.

His lips were there, swollen red against pale canvas. _Ripe fruit._

That's what they tasted like on my tongue, and I moved against him, _slowly, _careful not to scare us back to reality. _Tasting._

Suddenly he was there, sharing it - not just receiving, tauting me further. I had to weave my hand through his hair and pull him closer, feeling one of his hands coming to rest on my headrest and another at my waist, soft pressure in a pattern of swirls with the pad of his thumb, mimicking the movement of his mouth on mine.

We broke the kiss, both panting, and locked eyes. He actually leaned in again before winning the battle over himself and sitting back down, with pitch black eyes and mouth agape.

"Edward?" I asked, voice hoarse against my best efforts.

"Yes?"

"Platonic is overrated."


	13. The Truth of Myth

**A/N: Thank you readers, as always, for the overwhelming support. I'll be posting a second chapter this weekend, if all goes well.**

**To Pippapear, for her endearing dedication in my shy of a lost cause, my heartfelt thank you. I recently wrote and posted a two-chapter one-shot, **_**The Bunk Bed Diaries, **_**dedicated to her. Feel free to check it out!**

**To the one I recently lost, but will never forget - for all he taught me, for the better person he turned me into.**

~*~

_  
His lips were cold._

I wanted to bask in the glory of the first kiss that I'd ever meant and wanted, that I'd ever truly initiated, that anyone would call me crazy for even attempting. I wanted to relive the few seconds that it took for hours, for days, and yet I couldn't. No matter how much I wanted.

Because there was something distinctly wrong with Edward, something he'd kept from me. Something that justified it.

_His lips were cold to my touch._

Having always run cold, I've known very few people whose skin feels even colder. But it wasn't just cold - something that could easily be justified by a cold bite to the wind before we even got in the car or by the fact that my lips were warmer than usual, adrenaline sending my blood rushing under the very thin layer of skin.

It wasn't just cold. Once again, he was freezing, and my own lips were drained of their warmth just by the brief contact.

Little Guy came, as always, through the kitchen window that I'd left semi-open just for him. He was getting round around the middle, I noticed, briefly taking a hiatus from my consuming thoughts to turn to something else.

The grey cat, sensing my need for comfort, perhaps, nestled itself on my lap. I'd given him full range of action, leaving that window open at all times, hoping he would find his way home, but, almost a week later, it had become clear I was the only one feeding him and giving him the occasional mud-cleansing bath. Which didn't mean I was adopting him.

With my weak track record for permanence, it wouldn't exactly be smart of me. I wasn't ready to take on the responsibility.

Hence, I hadn't actually named it, in hopes of finding him a suitable owner.

I just called him Little Guy because calling him "kitty" sounded vaguely like an annoying insult if repeated too often.

_What if..._

Almost knocking my four-legged house guest off my lap, I stretched over the armrest of the couch and got my sketchbook. The fourth I was going through that particular week, but I was hardly keeping tabs on it anymore.

I turned the pencil once or twice in my hand. This particular page was a rough sketch I had every intention of translating into oil as soon as the will struck, so I didn't feel particularly bad about marring it with my poor penmanship.

_Cold_ _skin_, I wrote by one of Edward's drawn lashes, and instantly regretted it, as it seemed he was staring beyond the faint word in graphite.

_Chameleon eyes, _I wrote below, alongside the curve of his cheekbone. The very first thing that I truly noticed about him. That drew me to him.

_Extraordinarily pale._  
_  
Never eats or drinks in public. Neither does any of his siblings._

This was the only one I could remotely justify - they had a doctor for a parent, after all. Maybe their diet was strict or unusual, which would account for their secretive nature about it. Edward had never shown any signs of malnutrition, so the fact didn't particularly bother me. I signaled this with a small check in front of the scribbled _s._

_Strength and agility. _I'd noticed these quickly enough by simply watching him drive and move, and even though his temper was borderline preoccupying, he always seemed to be restraining himself.

That was the scariest of all.

_Something about him is just not right._

The truth of my own thought, as voiced by my conscious mind, crept up on me with the shock of a revelation and the fear that came with it.

I knelt in front of my over-packed bookcases, searching, hoping I'd remembered to bring the old books my dad used to refer to every time I coughed, or sneezed, or cut myself...

In a dark corner of a lower shelf, there they were; the four old and tattered copies of medical encyclopedias and random studies of maladies Charlie had taken an interest in. I'd studied Biology for educational purposes, of course - focusing on Health, at times, as it was useful information that had always compelled me.

Looking at my list, I decided to search for temperature-related ailments, and see if something fit. After some search through the books and online, a pituitary gland tumor seemed the only thing that could fit - but not quite. Even if the hormonal unbalance could cover the irritability and skin changes, something like that would only change the way Edward perceived temperature, not his core temperature itself. And there was nothing about the shape of his body or behavior that ever spoke of weakness or debility to me. So much of it didn't seem to match.

I couldn't accept it, and even if a nagging part of me whispered in my ear of denial to accept the consequences that came with this diagnosis, I shushed it.

Putting the books away, I then navigated my way through unrelated material in order to find out just how cold his skin had to be for it to feel as it did.

Rummaging through my bathroom cabinet, I found a thermometer, probably as old as myself, and used it to check my temperature. 36ºC -or 98.8ºF - a constant, for me.

_He would have had to be several degrees colder..._

Not possible.

A simple search told me that anything under 35ºC was officially hypothermia, potentially fatal if under 32ºC_._

_How can that even be possible? He was fully dressed in winter gear... He should have been warm._

And yet he wasn't.

Defeated and worried, I sunk back onto my couch, looking through my mind's eyes to see the Cullens._ Are all of their eyes the same shade?_

Maybe not exactly, but then again, neither were Edward's, depending on his moods.

I tapped my pencil over the word "_eats" _over and over again. A father for a doctor, indeed...

An ailment all the Cullens shared made the most sense. They were all quite pale, all seemed to share the same diet - or lack thereof - and the fact that they were adopted did nothing to appease me. They seemed hellbent on only forming connections amidst themselves, and this only proved my point further.

If you were sick, you would feel closer to someone going through the same, would you not?

Edward had told me his parents had died - that Carlisle had saved him and taken him in.

It was quite possible that, under the guise of forming a family, he'd collected these children like baseball cards, maybe truly convinced he could cure them, maybe just as test subjects.

The thought made my stomach churn.

If Edward was, indeed, sick, that would justify his distance, his reluctance - to put it mildly - to let me in. His belief that his presence could be nothing but damaging to me.

But yet again, it didn't quite fit.

The siblings were about as different as can be, ranging from small and skinny to big and brawny, and neither of them presented what anyone would perceive as visible signs of a disease.

They just seemed like a different species, but I'd seen stranger people.

I threw the books on the floor, angry and upset.

I was missing something. I was on the verge of figuring out exactly what that was, but that only made it that much more frustrating.

Tracing the lines of Edward's drawing with my eyes, I told myself I needed to step away from this. My interest in him, my feelings for him - both bordering on obsession - left me with no perspective.

Sound asleep, Little Guy purred as I ran my fingers through the soft fur between his ears, curling himself into a tighter little ball.

_It should always be this easy to care for someone._

Knowing I'd need to be up relatively early the next day, I promised myself I'd return to this soon, already knowing it would never slip my mind in the meantime.

Languidly, I made my way to the stairs, my tired mind unrelenting even as I took that first step up.

_It's just not biologically possible. Everything about him is unnatural._

I didn't take the second step.  
_  
Not biologically... possible. Unnatural._

The seed of the idea was sown, growing solid roots I couldn't shake. I ran back to the couch and sought my sketchbook, looking at the little notes. Yet again, I turned to my bookshelves, searching in the tittles, panic pulsing in sparks through the tips of my fingers as I ran them through the books' spines.

And there they were, entire rows of them.

_Fiction. Myths._

Ignoring my own, which I knew to hold no answers, I focused on Charlie's exotic and mismatched dozens of volumes, an incomplete collection he'd spent years assembling. It included works from around the world, from all-too-common best sellers to local publications and ancient first editions. A considerable part of them weren't even in English.

Carefully, I scanned through them, avoiding the typical story-lines and searching for something, anything that would jump at me as familiar.

It must have been hours of frowning my way through symbols and deciphering texts I could only understand portions of, digging in my memory for dialects I'd learn only the basis of a long, long time ago. Against my will, I found myself fascinated by much of what I was reading: from simple words that, whispered, could scare away insects and plagues to concoctions that could mend broken minds and give rest to the insomniac, anything and everything could be found. There was a great emphasis on herbs and their properties - if sown and reaped at certain phases of the moon cycle. The same elements could prove themselves beneficial or fatal if even the smallest of rituals wasn't carefully performed.

Lover's potions, sickly sweet and infused with beads of night sweat and early morning's dew - or laddered with bitter revenge - were common to find, always accompanied by warning tales related to its use.

Some of the traditions and beliefs were surely older than any modern science, and yet not all of it was as extraordinary and unreal as one would think. A passage, beautifully illustrated in watercolor, spoke of the healing power of tears - which we now know to possess antibacterial enzymes, not to speak of the emotional release crying provides. Much of it was surely wrong, none of it was well explained, but it was still captivating to read and imagine as centuries unfolded and these collections of texts in the form of spells, recipes and advices were passed down from generation to generation, re-shaped and re-written, until reaching the hands and eyes of a skeptic - myself.

But for every bit of inspired good intention, there was also darkness.

Some books were laden with threats meant to be murmured towards enemies, hexes and imagery of evil. After all, the dichotomy between the two was as old as Earth itself - it was no wonder that, while some were busy trying to figure out how to get locusts to leave their crops alone, some were plotting to make them wilt.

It presented itself to me as a product of odious minds and pettiness, the worst in human nature, but some of it was incredible. From Gods entire cultures had feared, worshiped and offered sacrifice to, to the most common myths of all. Gargoyle-like creatures took over the pages, some of which were blamed for natural disasters; half-human beasts that only came out at night and had certainly starred in many a nightmare.

Egyptian, Celtic, European, Asian and even some African tribes - all cultures had their own version of these monsters.

Tired, worn and yet wound up and restless, I was already considering giving up - before coming across another type of creatures entirely.

The cursed. The demonic.

There was no consensus as to their genesis, if for one detail: they had all been humans, at some point.

That particular book was torn almost beyond recognition, and much of the ink had faded off the curled and overly dry paper, probably due to water damage. The Italian was old and thick, and some of it was pure Latin which I slowly made my way through. Charlie had underlined a paragraph:

_"... for these dead creatures, if untamed, would swallow cities; hearts unbeating, they prey upon women and men alike. No weapon can be used against them, and only the sunlight offers safety: their kind does not dare walk under the light of Creation. And yet, those who believe in them, who have seen them, are cast off as mad, or maddened indeed remain, after laying witness as they fed from a loved one to keep their cold bodies animated..."_

Cold.

The word jumped at me from the pages and solidified, trapping me in its grip.

_It can't be..._

Resting the wretched book on my lap, I searched for my earlier notes, those I'd made before reading. I was more than willing to admit that, after spending hours dwelling through texts about the supernatural, I might have lost my grip on reality.

But those annotations predated it.

One of my hands covered my mouth as my finger ran through my own words: _cold skin, extraordinarily pale_...

I went back to the book, and awful images assaulted me: winged beasts with flesh-piercing teeth; a translucent face half visible in the moonlight, with one white iris, one black.

_Chameleon eyes..._

Not to speak of Forks, where the sunlight was scarce enough for a vampire not to have to face it.  
_  
Strength and agility. _I shivered, feverishly, remembering his temper, the control he kept himself under, as if not to break anything, not to let loose.

I turned yet another page, and the ferocious mask of a predator on a human body stared back at me in black and red.

And my mind drifted straight back to that first moment in the cafeteria - the scarlet piece of silk in his hand, the shock in his stance and the dark of his eyes... I knew he'd hated me, then. I just never knew how truly close he might have been to hurting me.

All his warnings felt suddenly all too real, even if the man I thought I knew bore no resemblance with the monsters described.

Sick to my stomach, I sunk back on the couch, the last of my notes, the only one I thought I could explain, now letting me know just how painfully naive I'd been.

_Never eats or drinks in public. Neither does any of his siblings._

I knew everything fit, and yet I couldn't truly believe it. Not even staring at the book, reading as the author pointed out the vampire's true power: the fact that its prey is so unwilling to acknowledge its existence.

Resting my forehead on my palms, I willed away the roaring mass of thoughts of doubt, fear and shock.

_Little chance for sleep now._

Getting my breathing under control, I pulled open yet another book on the subject, Charlie's old saying burning on the back of my mind:

_Believe in the richness in life. Believe that there's more to it than we can ever see._


	14. Dead Certain

**A/N: I know, it's been an atrocious amount of time since I last posted, but I can promise the next chapter (which is mostly finished) will be posted by the end of the weekend.**

**Hope you enjoy it ;)**

The next day I woke up with no memory of allowing exhaustion to take over - but it obviously had, at some point. I found myself over and under crumpled books, shivering and chilled to the bone - it had been a cold night to sleep without a blanket. My back was twisted in pain from the awkward, pliable couch, and the knowledge that Edward would be here soon was the true reason for me to get up.

_Edward._

Strewn around, the open pages mocked me; in the crisp, white light of the morning, the drawings weren't quite as scary, and my fears were somewhat put aside, even if the weariness was still there. My nature was more than ready to scoff in humiliation that I'd even ever considered these legends as truthful, but, then again, I reminded myself there was nothing natural about this situation. About him.

I relaxed as much as I possibly could under the shower and, afterwards, as I fed Little Guy. With a remarkable sense of opportunity (or maybe a very acute sense of smell) he jumped through the gap in the kitchen window and joined me for breakfast, paying his own food little attention and begging for crumbs at my feet.

I found myself envying his simplicity, his complete inability to grasp - and therefore get caught up in - the turmoils I was experiencing.

On the dot, I could hear the Volvo's barely perceptible rumble as it pulled onto my driveway; carrying Little Guy on one arm, I went to open the door.

And all of Edward's all-too-unexpected smiley mood vanished as soon as he laid eyes on the cat.

Granted, it wasn't his fault.

As soon as the door opened, the little animal leapt off my arms, tense and hissing, his fur standing on end. For a second, I thought he was just reacting to the unknown threat - but, a second later, I realized he'd positioned himself in the middle of the two of us, as if protecting me.

Old pages of my History books flashed in front of my eyes - Bast, the egypcian Cat Goddess, and the symbolism cats pertained of guardians, especially against evil and the underworld.

"I didn't know you had a pet," Edward finally remarked, as eventually the Little Guy made a run for it, disappearing into the woods near my house.

My unease was magnified, but I tried to mask it as well as I could with mindless chatter:

"Yes... well, neither did I. He adopted me, not the other way around. Come in," I urged, wondering, for the first time, if it really was the best idea as I shut the door behind us. Immediately I scolded myself for even entertaining the thought of him hurting me, but it was too late. For the first time, I _did _fear him, and I found myself taking a peek at his eyes, checking for his mood.

Bright, solid gold. He wasn't mad, or _hungry, _which was the best case scenario.

In fact, if anything, he looked excited, hopeful. The same way I'd felt about it the afternoon before, making plans to just _be _with him, to just escape to the world of words and looks we exchanged so well - and I still wanted it. A part of me still wanted it, no matter how my self-preservation instinct was keeping me on my toes.

I accepted the bag he handed me with a crooked eyebrow.

"You didn't need to go all out."

"Most of it is borrowed," he explained, "you're not quite as tall as Rosalie, but her things will fit you."

"Was she alright with this?" I asked, truly curious. "About me wearing her gear?"

Edward just told me not to worry about it, not really giving me an answer and casting an eye over the messy living room. Luckily, I'd remembered to clear up all the books and get them back on the shelves, but there were still papers and drawing notebooks strewn around.

"Sorry about the mess," I whispered. "Do you want to grab some breakfast while I get into these?" I asked, holding the hiking boots.

"No, thanks. I'm not really hungry."

_Of course._

Occupied with the big, intricate laces, I took my time appraising his attire. Other than a pair of boots much like the ones I was putting on and a heavier coat, he looked just as he did everyday.

He was still the same boy as he curiously observed my kitchen.

_What did you expect? For him to grow horns overnight?_

"Do you do this often?" I tried, softness but control molding my voice. _What if I'm wrong? What if I'm right?_

"We do like going out. Especially when it's sunny."

I doubted it.

"Does your family have any pets?" I insisted, gesturing towards Little Guy's bowl.

He grimaced for a second, as if the whole concept of having a pet was ludicrous. "No... we're not really the... animal lover sort of people."

"I guess I understand," I replied, talking in riddles just as he always had. "Did you have any plans for the hike? I found a few trails when I first moved in. We could use one of those."

There was no fear left in me, not even as I said it; in spite of everything, I was still Charlie Swan's child, and I wasn't afraid of the dark. Even if that wasn't so, we'd been in close proximity and alone often in the last weeks, and I was still in one piece, no bite marks.

_Point for him._

"I had something specific in mind. It's not too long or risky, I thought that would be best," he justified, "since you might get cold and want to turn back."

I wanted to snap back at him for treating me like a crystal doll, which I hated. But I couldn't.

I didn't find myself at ease enough with him to be myself, to voice myself. And I couldn't help but think that this worry, this protection, came to be not because he cared - but because he knew, from experience, just how fragile human life really was.

_Because he took it in the past. He might have taken one today, before coming here._

I snapped my eyes shut and forcefully repressed my nerves, my resurfacing fear, the sickening feeling at the pit of my stomach that made me want to wretch. I couldn't deal with those possibilities as much as I couldn't deal with the loss of the boy I thought I knew.

And then I did the most reckless thing I had ever done.

I knowingly entered his car and let him drive me, in silence, wherever he'd intended to take me.

That's when I knew my obsession for him was one shade darker than I'd assumed.

The road was partially covered in gritty hail but Edward's driving was steady. He tried to start a conversation several times but failed; I was, at best, dismissive and distant, even with our close proximity. The asphalt gave way to unpaved road as we took a left, a couple of miles out of town; he kept his promise of keeping me close.

Outside the car, it was extremely cold. The windless morning was damp and charged; there might have been a storm brewing. I appreciated the heavy air as it flooded my nostrils, thick with the smell of leaves, earth and frost, eager for it to clear out the stench of decaying books, a scent I used to love.

"This way," he whispered, voice laden with frustration and a twinge of hurt.

_Out__ of the both of us, I'm the one who is being honest._

My hands found purchase inside the pockets of the long, thick jacket that he'd provided for me. It was an old trick - simple and effective - when it came to controlling your nerves: mind your feet and find somewhere to put your hands. I would be playing with one of my cigarettes - but, with this being Rosalie's coat, there were none for me to unleash my nervous energy on.

My father's words were part of my subconscious, and I had to wonder, as I followed closely behind Edward, what Charlie would think of me today. What he would say if he saw me, if he knew of the different ways I was putting myself in danger.

_What am I trying to prove?_

I didn't know. I just knew that not seeing this through was not an option. That I had to find out if there was even a spark of the boy I'd seen inside the creature that was now paving the path for me to walk on, with long, effortless strides and a tortuously slow pace.

The woods were soon thickening around us, so much that I couldn't see the car or any clearing; the path grew steep, rockier, so that some of the time we'd have to climb over some rock formations to continue.

Edward didn't offer his hand as we were climbing, choosing to stand as close as he possibly could without entering my personal space, waiting and looking for signs that I was, indeed, in need of his assistance.

The thought of him touching me evoked strong and conflicting reactions I couldn't control; I settled for the safer option of not reaching out to him at all, even though I could see his shoulders hunching under the weight of my - what? How did he perceive it? Rejection?

Internally, I scoffed at that.

"We've come a long way already," he finally tells me, three quarters of an hour later. "Should we turn back?"

"No, I want to keep going," I got out, slightly breathless. My body wasn't made for - neither was it used to - harsh, intense exercise, and this was the most of it I'd gotten since leaving London.**  
**  
Silently, he let me have my way.

Uphill, the charged air turned into thick fog, shielding the depth of the woods from my eyes. All I could see were the nearby branches and trunks against the white-clad background, standing around me like the ceiling of an ever-enclosing labyrinth, and I had to redouble my efforts to keep my steps solidly trained on the path.

But the fog cleared.

After maybe half a mile, I could tell we were now going downhill; we'd successfully hiked the eastern face of the mountain, where the cross was possible, and were now descending the western side. The beaten path was now much narrower, not as marked; it hadn't been used for a while, and it steered us South.

Carved into the rock - certainly not by human hands - was a broad platform. Still in silence, we both stopped there, at the sight before us: at our feet, the woods stretched on, forming a valley of green and white, both wispy and solid. The skyline was almost indistinguishable in the distance, blurring into the ethereal expanse of condensed water in its various forms.

It was the window to eternity.

"It's beautiful up here," I remarked, my breath twisting and ascending in a spiral of scentless smoke.

"Yeah, it is."

Edward's sigh showed me yet again how disappointed he felt; but it also showed me a lot more.

Standing at his right, eyes trained on his lips, I felt all the uncomfortable heat that had built up under my bulky and unbreathable garments wan off, leaving me frozen like everything else seemed to be in the eerie quiet that surrounded us.

_I was right._

Staring at his lips, watching his breaths, it finally sunk; the absence of a foggy breath like my own - the absence of life in him - crushed the last of my resistance to believe. It was right in front of my eyes - it had been so the whole time.

But Edward didn't take my stance for what it was.

He saw me staring at his lips, one step parting us; maybe less.

And his reaction was but human. He stepped forward, eyes searching, bending to kiss me.

I took one step back.

I saw everything in his eyes: lust, confusion, hurt bordering on anger. And then, quick as a thunder clap - darker, deeper, _realization._


	15. Getting In Touch With Your Inner Demons

**A/N: Thank you for the overwhelming support send my way after the last chapter! It means the world to receive such wonderful feedback.**

**As usual, I apologize for the delay – but I had good reason for it.**

**I've written an entry for **_**The Googleward Challege **_**called "**_**A Modern Fairy Tale" – **_**feel free to check it out, and vote if you're so inclined. The link is on my profile!**

**And of course, Pipappear will always be my literary soul mate.**

**~*~**

"You should have told me."

My voice was harsh and cold, and I felt as if I was still moving backwards, away from him, even whilst I was rooted to the ground.

The silence stretched, laden with the crushing weight and significance of all the words I needn't utter.

He broke our staring contest, casting his eyes to the floor and tugging on his hair.

When he did look me in the eye again, it was as if he was just waiting for me to run away. To scream.

And it kept me still and quiet.

Waiting and watchful.

"I never told you any lies. Distortions of the truth... Half-truths, yes. How could I..." he started, stuttering and recoiling from his own words. "I couldn't bring myself to tell you... _what _I am," he finally continued. "I _was _born in Chicago. June 20th, 1901," he got out, eyes cast down but still holding my own. My throat clogged up. "Almost 90 years before you were."

He waited for an answer, but there was none to give. My mind was blank of anything but figments of what I thought his life might have been like. His... existence.

"My parents died of Spanish influenza - and so would I, if Carlisle hadn't... turned me," he went on, after it became clear I wasn't able to respond. "Though, in a sense, I suppose I died that day all the same."

"But you need blood to... stay this way," I heard myself saying though it sounded nothing like my voice.

He closed his eyes.

"Yes."

"You've killed..."

Numbers, faces started going through my mind. _A hundred years. _How many died at his hands? How many did he had to feed off in a week? How many did he have to sacrifice to stand before me now?

I started feeling lightheaded, but the cold air held me up and cleared my mind.

"I have killed... in the past, I thought I could pick..." he started, but ended up pinching the bridge of his nose, as if there was too much - too many thoughts, too many confessions bubbling to the surface. "I thought I could sort through everyone and eliminate the scum."

My eyes widened.

"_Eliminate? _You thought you could play God!" I got out, shaking.

"My abilities, my specific abilities," he stressed, as if to try and make me understand, "let me know _exactly _what they were thinking. I can swear to you, not one of them were an innocent..."

He always _knew _things. As he did when I told Angela I wasn't going to the girl's choice, or how Jacob wanted to talk to me, and what he'd said.

I recoiled to think of it.

_Edward can read minds._

"If you could listen to their thoughts," I defied, all fear abandoned as I wrapped my mind around the enormity of what he was telling me, "couldn't you hear any regret, alongside the guilt? We're all _guilty _of something, Edward!"

"I know," he admitted, bitterly, brokenly. "I know, it was during my... rebellious stage."

"You speak of it as if it's over," I mimicked exactly his words from when I'd talked about _my _past.

"I returned back home to my family after a few years. Carlisle... he has a different way of thinking. He never... We take _animals' _blood, Bella. Just like so many humans eat meat. It's our way of compromising."

I could feel relief - but also regret. I would have prayed for the lives he had taken, had I believed some God was hearing me.

Then again, all my beliefs were being thoroughly shattered.

To have thought that he had killed someone... Right before coming to my home, that very same morning...

I closed my eyes in the process, finding some peace for the first time since the night before. Breathing in, I stole a second to calm myself; I opened my eyes only when I thought I was ready to tackle it all.

"Yesterday... After noticing how cold your skin was, I thought you were sick," I started to tell him, out of need. "You have no idea... for how many hours I agonized, wondering what it was. Wondering if you were dying."

"No need to worry about that," he muttered, humorless.

"Don't belittle it," I retorted. "I don't remember you taking any chances when Tyler's van rammed into my car." His irises dilated in response to something - surprise that I'd figured it out? "Is mind reading your only ability?"

"Seeing the future is Alice's," he explained, "though it can't be taken quite as literally as that."

But as he explained... Something else came to me, cutting through the boiling thoughts inside my skull. His eyes did widen with surprise...

I _could _surprise him.

"You can't hear _my_ thoughts."

"No. For some reason... not yours." he trailed off, clearly annoyed. "You wouldn't believe how frustrating it is," he added, in a guarded remark with a strange look of mischievousness on his face.

"Good," I answered, blessing my privacy of mind.

Questions ran through it - pieces of myths that remained unanswered. I couldn't see him sleeping in a coffin, and he could obviously walk around during daytime...

In the meantime, he was occupied with observing me.

"Is my reaction that unbelievable?" I ventured.

"Of course it is," he countered. "You should be running from me."

"You don't hurt... humans," I reminded him. __

Not anymore.

"I certainly possess the ability to do so."

"I was scared enough this morning, coming here."

"Yet you still came with me."

I merely nodded, knowing my actions spoke for themselves.

"And now that you know," he let out, in a rush, "what happens?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"What are you going to do now?" he clarified, clearly dreading my response.

"The places I've been, the things I've seen, the people I've met... I thought I'd learnt how to detach myself from pre-conceived notions. But I'll admit that there was one thing I took for certain - that you were at least _human_," I said, even though I could see him wince in pain. "This just shows me how little of the world I truly know," I think aloud.

"Where does it leave us," he insisted, "now that you know?"

I managed a faint smile, as the feeling returned to my limbs - protesting from the rigidity of standing there, in the cold side of the mountain, for so long.

"Now I'm going to ask you to show me what's it like to _be _you."

He seemed to be contemplating this for a few seconds, and I recognized, for the first time, that I was the only human being with the ability not only to surprise Edward Cullen, but also pose him with a challenge like no other.

And he was clearly trying to decide how much he could show me. How much he should hide.

"I believe in what you've told me," I hedged, "about being as forthcoming as you possibly could without... exposing yourself. I'm asking you to trust me with this knowledge. And to let me understand."

That's what I truly needed. To say he was a vampire meant nothing without context - even the most base assumption, that he drank from humans, had turned out to be inaccurate, at best.

I needed to understand what this truly meant before I could answer him where it would lead us. If it would lead us anywhere at all.

He took several steps away from me, and all of a sudden, the strangest feeling of helplessness and solitude prevailed. We were just two dark-clad figures standing in the cold, deserted landscape, no connection between us, as he steeled himself with enough resolve to show me what I'd asked to see.

"Right now, the world is as silent as it can possibly be. There's no one around but you - and since I can't _hear _you," Edward explained, "I'm about as close to what... you'd find normal. I can only hear the sounds that surround us both."

He was trying to let me know the differences by masking himself as equal. I wouldn't have it.

"How is it, in a crowded space? How can you even _think?"_

"There's just... _more,_" he broke, no words apt to describe it, "even with hundreds of individual voices buzzing in the background, I can still choose to drown them out or pinpoint a specific one. I can still hear the individual blades of grass flicking with the wind... miles away, and everything in between," he trailed off.

My mouth opened of its own accord. I couldn't begin to wrap my mind around his full ability, and we'd just talked about his hearing.

"Your sight?"

"There's a rabbit over there," he pointed, and when my eyes followed the direction of his long finger, they found nothing but wispy fog, hundreds of yards away. "His coat is already turning white, but there's still some brown in it. He's trying to forage."

"And your sense of smell?"

Suddenly, his nostrils flared, and his head tipped back, one hand shooting up quickly - too quickly - to support it, almost to keep it from lulling back.

His eyes remained semi-opened and unfocused for several seconds before he answered.

"I can smell _everything,_" he got out, his voice a low, menacing lilt as his fingers turned into a grip around his hair. "The tree bark, the leaves, the soil... _You. _Especially you. It never leaves me anymore, and it never dies down. I can _taste it._"

Edward's true nature, the full extent of how _different _he truly was, of how it affected the way he perceived the world in every single way, drew me back and pulled me under. The hope of finding _him_ underneath it all, the him that I had truly felt drawn to from the first moment, shrank and shriveled.

Then he looked into my eyes, and it all morphed.

In a fraction of the time it would take me to blink, he was no longer demon; all traces of animal, of instinct, of murderous intent, fled his body in an almost visible whisper - and he took yet again the shape of the tortured boy.

"And you have to believe me when I tell you I'd rather be blind, deaf and anosmic than take another life. Especially yours."

His voice broke throughout his vow, and for all that I couldn't handle his admission of guilt, regret and self-hatred, a part of me had to rejoice.

Because I'd found him. He was in there, he had always been.

And it had been _decades _of pain.

I closed in the distance between us and reached for his face.

"If everything else is amplified... how about the way you _feel_?"

I rested my lips over his cold ones in a short, chaste kiss - meant not to be seductive, not to lure, as it seemed I was enough of both without even trying. But meant to let him _feel, _to heal the part of him that, I could see, so desperately wanted and needed to be human once more.

Maybe for me more than anything else.

"This isn't reckless on your part anymore, Bella, this is _insane,_" he warned me, in a whisper, his eyes barely capturing mine in the odd angle the proximity afforded us.

"I just kissed a vampire. For the second time in twenty-four hours. So you can hush about insane."

"I should take you home," he pointed out, distracting me, as it was probably past lunch. "You're very cold."

The last statement pained me, as, we both knew, he couldn't warm me with his arms.

"Yes, we should start heading back. It will take us a while to get to the car."

Something like a spark of amusement flickered over his face.

It was the last thing I saw before I was airborne.

One second, my feet were solidly set on rock; the next, there seemed to be nothing but air around me, and the forest was _moving _around me at a blurring speed, almost as if I was being sucked through a tunnel.

It took me another second to realize _I _was the one moving.

Edward's arm held me securely on his side, as he - ran? _flew? _- through the tall trees, and I realized my body was weakly equipped to handle the strain of it.

In what must have been a fraction of a minute - but felt like less - we were by the car, and I was finally allowed to stand on my own.

"If you ever do that to me again," I got out, doubling over with a hand on my churning stomach and another over the hood of the car, seeking support, "I'm sharpening a stake."

The obvious mirth in his eyes died abruptly, and I could have kicked myself.

_Too early for that kind of humor._

"It was the fastest way. I'm sorry, I should have asked you..." Edward trailed off, hand smoothing his hair and guilt shrinking him back to less than he was.

"That's how you _move_?" I asked, wondering what it would feel like - not to drive at that speed, but to be able to reach it through the effort of my own body.

"Yes. Well... I try not to, it would obviously draw too much attention."

I didn't have the heart to tell him his family would _always _draw too much attention.

My house was mercifully warm and dry; after a while, I could feel my muscles unwind and all my extremities returning to full function as my blood finally reached them.

But I wondered, as I watched Edward sitting on my couch, looking lost and confused, if everything would really return to normal.

Or if normal had flown out the window long ago, if it had ever truly existed, in my life.


	16. A Rainbow Of Complications

**A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews; I care little for how many of them I get – their content and heartfelt nature warm me all the more.**

**Pippapear will marry me some day, if I have a say in it. I'll cook her tasty things and write her pretty things.**

**Happy Holidays, everyone! Enjoy.**

_A year and a half ago_

With a violent shake, the bus precariously advanced in its sluggish rhythm along the dusty, unpaved road.

I frowned. The sketch I'd been working on was now marred by a thick, marked line of graphite from when I'd let the pencil slip inmy hand.

Trying to draw on top of my knees like this was pointless.

I chucked the sketchbook inside my backpack and took a look at Alexis, pulling one of my cigarettes out of the carton.

Behind her big sunglasses, she looked miserably hungover. I rubbed my neck and the back of my head, feeling much the same way. The delightful little pills we'd taken before getting on the plane were no longer in effect.

Soon, the smell of burnt tobacco filled my nostrils, heavy with familiarity and the promise of relaxation.

I took a long, leisurely pull and sat on the edge of my seat, trying to cool off as much as possible.

"I would kill for anything with ice in it, right now," Alexis moaned.

"Like vodka," I hedged, cracking a smile. "But, given we're in Mexico, tequila might be the best choice."

"How can you smoke right now? I'm melting," my best friend remarked. I just shrugged.

On the seat facing us, Brian was stoically ignoring me while scrolling through his mp3 player. I didn't mind his obvious attempt at giving me the silent treatment; it was amusing, really.

Leaning forward, I showed him the nearly empty carton in a silent offer.

And no matter how pissed off he was, he still took my tobacco.

Since she hadn't had much success in engaging me, Alexis now turned to her brother:

"Not you, too. That's a _woman's _cigarette, and how can you wear that fucking fedora in this heat?"

I had to chuckle at that. It's true. The man looked downright absurd, in shorts, t-shirt, and that 20's gangster hat.

"It's called style, sis," he spat, speaking up for the first time since we got to the airport. "And good tobacco is good tobacco... no matter the source."

He tried to look dejectedly at me. I ignored the attempt.

Alexis wasn't quite as cool with it.

"How long are you keeping this up? We're on holiday, having a trip we've been planning and saving for for ages, and you're being a dick."

Well, that wasn't exactly true.

Alexis and I both came from families who could afford far better than this.

But Brian's family were the kind that worked for families like ours. His mother worked at Alexis', as a maid; his dad couldn't be bothered to be sober enough to get a job, these days, but he'd worked as a _chauffeur _when Brian was a kid.

Which is why, I suspected, he secretly liked the idea of being Alexis' sibling.

So we had to wait until he was able to put away enough money from small gigs at pubs and small jobs waiting tables so we could enjoy this trip to Mexico.

"I wasn't the one ruining the mood," he interjected, getting defensive. "She's the fucking _traitor._"

Alright, I'd been trying to take his behavior in my stride, but this was crossing the line. I'd had enough.

"Traitor? Really, Brian? And why is that?"

He jumped right onto the opportunity of unleashing it on me.

"You know what I mean, snogging that tosser at our sending-away bash. After what he did, I don't know how you could..."

"What Rich did wasn't okay, but he got his punishment. He's a decent guy. And if I were to stay away from everyone you've ever snapped at... You've punched people for not knowing Cream, B," I replied, shaking my head and taking another pull.

"That's right," Alexis corroborated, laughing, eyes wide as she remembered that night.

"That," the scrawny boy countered, "is a fucking offense. And I honestly expected more from you. The lead singer in a band... Way to be a cliché, Bella."

"Because the guitarist would be so much better..." Alexis mumbled, audibly, making him flush an angry shade of humiliated red.

I brushed it off.

"Let's just forget about it. It's not like this thing with Rich is going anywhere. It was one kiss, that's it," I stated, putting the matter to rest. "Now let's enjoy this trip and have some fun."

Alexis grinned like a Cheshire cat and Brian mutely nodded his agreement. But suddenly, he seemed to remember something.

"How did you get your old man to let you come, anyway?"

My stomach dropped, and I winced.

"He got me to promise I'd go through, at least one year of High school."

My friends seemed shocked out of their minds.

"You traded a two week trip for an entire year in a hell hole?" Alexis accused.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad. And, in a way, he's right - even if I don't like admitting it - going straight to College might not be the smartest thing."

"Spoken like someone who's never spent a day in school," Brian remarked. I gave him the stink eye.

Finally, we reached the city, and the thought of both a long cold shower and a long cold drink nearly undid me.

But then I saw a street party already in progress - even though the sun wasn't even down yet - up one of the side streets we passed.

Getting up, I ignored my friend's questions as I walked along the narrow aisle to get to the driver, crumpled paper in my hand.

"_Perdóname_," I hedged, "You know the hotel where we're staying, right?"

"_Si,_" the short, tanned man confirmed, looking doubtful.

"Would you be so kind as to make sure our bags get there safely..." I asked, slipping a few bills into the pocket of his sweaty shirt, "and just drop us off here?"

Thirty seconds later, we were walking back to the party, almost empty-handed.

"What the hell was that?" Alexis turned to me, clearly still hung up on the idea of a shower and a drink.

"Well, I did sacrifice a lot for this trip. Might as well get this party started and make the absolute most of it."

~*~

I woke up confused - finding I wasn't at a dirty street under the still scalding setting sun, but in my bed, at Forks.

And The memories of the previous day rushed to me instead, giving me an instantaneous headache as I sat up.

Strewn around, my sketchbooks spoke of everything I'd come here to find, all the things I hadn't dared admit I was truly missing. In need of, like one needs air to breathe.

I weaved my hands through my loose curls, trying to untangle a restless night's damage.

Everything seemed to hang in the balance. All the things about Edward that just didn't _fit _in the past were now explained, even if this particular reality would take some time to process.

He was now mine and his own worst enemy at the same time. I had no doubts that the man that existed within him was strong, pure and honest enough to be worthy of love. And my willingness and determination to deliver it had to be stronger than his self-loathing.

He'd given me the key to his reality - I already had his trust. Now I had to convince him I was right to return that trust to him, as well.

My analytical mind succumbed to the effort of working through this impossible situation and I gave up, leaping off my bed and opening the drawers I'd stocked with the goodies from the trip to Portland.

Tying my messy hair in a knot, I cracked open my oils.

I took my time stretching the canvas while my coffee brewed; I drank it while rummaging through the hundreds of drawings frozen in various stages of completion.

By eight a.m. I'd finished the first outline. I was on a mission.

I stretched the oil over the white, handling so it would not only breathe color, but shape. Texture. I sculpted the ink into rivulets of broken hymns to unnamed emotions, stepping back and contorting my body in odd directions every few minutes to appreciate what I'd accomplished thus far, leaving the paintbrush and the pallet behind and entertaining my eager fingers with cigarettes that soon turned to dust.

It must have been hours before I heard a knock at the door.

I went to open it, wrapped in the daze that usually follows the shock of finding the world hadn't stopped after you've withdrawn from it.

I shouldn't have been surprised that it was him.

The frenzied state I'd been a prisoner of abandoned me as I stood to look over a very different picture - ever-morphing, the swirling gold in his eyes like oil pouring out to touch me. His clenched hands and set mask faltered and cracked; I could almost hear the faint whisper of words he'd come here to say, but had given up on.

This wasn't the time for prepared speeches.

Wordlessly, I stepped away, letting him in. Only then did I notice the drying scabs of paint on my hands and forearms; I felt my skin pull at the corner of my right eye, and imagined a splash of color there, as well.

At least, he'd come, something I hadn't been certain of. Not after the way he left, the day before, distraught and haunted, leaving me feeling the same way.

Not two seconds after the door clicked shut, he was softly but deftly spinning me around, pinning me against it with his stare and his body, searching for my mouth with his own.

"Tell me what you're thinking. Please, I need to know," he begged, breath mingling with mine in an almost-kiss.

"I'm asking myself if you'll leave again. If whatever this is... can be stronger than your nature," I answered him, stark honesty resounding in my words.

"Nothing can change what I am."

"That's not the part of you I'm talking about, Edward. You're the one keeping yourself on this edge. Just take the damn jump, or you'll never know. We'll never know."

Even bordering on frustrated, I got through to him.

I saw a flash of hope in his eyes, startlingly green in its hue. But before it could blossom, he quashed it with as much strength as he could muster, immediately starting to pace around my living room, his sharp, quick movements no longer meant to resemble human motion.

"I can't ask you to be with me. Not the way I want you to be."

I frowned, hugging myself, ironically cold with the distance he put between us, before asking "Why not?"

"Because I can't promise you'll be safe. It destroys me, but I can offer no assurance - other than you'd be better off without me in your life."

"What happened in the cafeteria, the first time we met?"

He stopped, his back to me. It was as if I'd dumped a bucket of cold water over his head - if he actually cared about temperature, that is. It gave me my answer.

"Why me? So many kids there... why was I the one you almost killed?"

He went to sit on my couch, rigid and immobile trying to suppress his nerves as he answered.

"Your scent. I never... You can't comprehend the appeal that my kind can find in blood. It's the ultimate source of pleasure, if you can imagine it in a liquid form. Its to possess, to _consume _a human being's essence, their life force. And yours had me planning on how to kill you," he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper, "and all of those children. Reduced, in my mind, to nothing but witnesses. It engulfed me in a split second... to the point where there was nothing else. In all my years, I had never even come _close _to experiencing the thirst I did in your presence."

_So a way to a vampire's heart is also through his stomach._

Something sank in my spirit as his words registered. I was the one he'd felt this towards.

"Why me?"

He understood the insistence in my broken question.

"Genetic lottery? I don't know, Bella."

A strange acceptance derived from the answer he'd given, even if unthinkingly. We'd been bound together before either knew of the other's existence.

I'd been forged for him to crave. And he'd been forged to kill me.

"You thirsted for my blood then... do you feel it still? Is it still hard to control?"

He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing with the strain.

"It's not quite as hard. Being around you has somewhat helped. But I'm afraid I won't be able to control myself all the time, which is still - and will always be - a very real possibility."

I swallowed a very inappropriate and untimely chuckle, half-hearted as it might have been. He was the poster-child for self-control, if ever there was ever one.

I sank in the cave of my own swirling thoughts until I heard his voice again.

"Honestly, I thought you were a witch, at first."

My head snapped up to him, and, for the second time in as many days, I was truly shocked.

"You thought I was _what_?!"

My voice might have risen slightly above its normal tone. Edward flinched.

"You have to understand that wasn't an insult. I understand it might sound as one, it's just... It's too powerful _not _to seem supernatural. And, let's face it, you're not the most transparent individual - no one knew where you'd come from, and a teenage girl living alone raises suspicion, even from my kind. I thought you were somehow messing with my head, specially since I couldn't hear your thoughts. You just... bewitched me."

I started rubbing my forehead, wishing I had cigarettes downstairs, but I knew most of them were up in my room, partially or completely mashed up.

"How much of it is true? Superstitions, myths, legends..." I trailed off, feeling a bit overwhelmed. I was very nearly ready to accept the fact that the object of my affection had been clinically dead for over ninety years, but the idea that there was even more out there was a little too much.

"Some of it exists, but not as it's commonly portrayed. Much like with my kind," he tried to appease me.

"Something I should know about? Do I need to start gnome-proofing my herb garden or wearing a foil hat?"

He didn't laugh. If anything, he looked concerned.

"You've met at least another supernatural being in Forks."

That made my ears perk up.

"Who is it?"

"That child, Jacob Black."

I started to think I'd officially fallen down the rabbit hole.

"Wait, _Jacob _is a supernatural being? _The_ Jacob I used to chase with a stick when I was kid?"

"He wasn't one until very recently, though the possibility was always in him," he clarified, clearly uncomfortable. "His generation probably shifted because of our presence here."

I found myself remembering the tall, menacing-looking boys at the beach and at the school, the morning he'd come to warn me against Edward and the rest of the Cullens.

Of course they would have recognized each other as threats.

"Shifted to _what, _exactly?" I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know.

"I believe they all shift to wolf form," Edward told me, looking like he was teaching a lesson.

"Werewolves," I breathed.

_No, I would have definitely been better off not knowing that._

"No, Shifters. Werewolves are something else entirely, half-human and dependent on the moon cycle. Shifters can change physical form at any time... Which makes them dangerous. You _do not _want to be near one at the time of the shift, specially the young ones, who can't control themselves."

I rubbed my forehead harder.

"This is... too much information, but thank you for the warning."

He sighed.

"Knowing you, I'm not entirely sure it makes a difference."

I glared at him, unhappy about the way he viewed me, as if I was actively seeking danger.

Well, I had. In the past. Right then, it just seemed to find me.

"I'm sorry about pulling you into this world. Asking you to be careful, to stay away from the shifters, has to be the most hypocritical request ever, seeing as no one else will ever pose as much of a danger to you as I do."

"I'm alive and unharmed, Edward. I _kissed _you and survived," I reminded him, looking into his eyes that swirled with darkness, trying to pry him away from the claws of his self-hatred.

"Barely. It's not enough," he replied, the words rolling out of his tongue like venom.

"I've trusted you from the start, and after all you've told me, I still do. More so now, with the honesty you just showed me."

"Fearless, careless, defenseless woman..." he muttered, gripping his hair, shocked by my words.

Had he been human, it would have fallen out long ago.

With his co-operation, I pried his fingers away from the abused auburn strands.

"Will you stay with me this afternoon?"

My whisper sounded like a plea.

"I'm going on a hunting trip with my siblings," he explained, relaxing marginally. Maybe even relieved that he could finally tell me the truth - the whole truth.

"You don't need it," I remarked, softly tracing the white skin below his golden eyes, missing its usually purple hue.

"It's always good to blow off some steam, and if I'm going to be around you, I better not take any chances."

I smiled. He was making plans for me. For us.

_Not strong enough to stay away, he once told me._

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

Even moving as slowly as he did, Edward still surprised me by standing up and inching himself closer to me, an odd mixture of fear and excitement in his eyes.

"I still don't know if you're my penance or my chance at redemption," I felt him sigh.

For the first time, he initiated a kiss - tortuous and languorous, filled with the desire to convey just how much he wished he could give me, just how scared he was of what that might mean. I wanted to explore his lips feverishly, but held back; he needed to feel confident, to see that it was possible.

As I watched him leave, I knew I was sure of it myself.

Climbing my way back to my room, I set the volume on the stereo to obnoxiously loud and allowed gritty rock to swallow me whole as I painted.

Because my world was, finally, so much more than black and white.


	17. A Whisper On The Lips

**A/N: I hope everyone had an excellent X-mas! Best wishes for the New Year!**

**Pippapear is a wonderful and gifted friend; I'll always love her.**

**Enjoy ;)**

For all that the weekend had been long, unsettling yet oddly clarifying in its revelations, Monday was absurd.

Picking me up as always, Edward seemed at a loss as exactly how to act or how to approach me after all that had transpired. I immediately recognized I'd need to be patient and extremely consistent in my actions towards him and, even if I was willing and wishing to be both, patience and consistency were definitely not two of my defining traits.

But I made an effort not to let his hesitance wound me, smiling in reassurance and kissing him lightly once we were inside the car, ready to leave. He caught me off-guard as his cold lips lingered over mine, demanding as he pushed back, with the quiet, calm softness of testing.

I was left thoroughly confused, other than the obvious physical rush, and suspected he truly enjoyed that fact as we pulled away from my driveway.

To say that I had had little to no respect for overly romantic displays in the past would have been quite the understatement. The overly pink, sickeningly sweet and gooey sort of emotional state that involved very undignified shows of affection had always seemed laughable to me. In fact, I vaguely remember having defended something about how teenage girls going through the first stages of a newly-found interest - because, in all honesty, calling it passion would be nothing short of exaggeration and making a mockery of the concept - should be shot, or at least imprisoned and given some proper books to read until they were mature enough to be a functional human being.

Sitting in that car besides a smiling vampire, I was forced to review my stance.

What right did I have to mock the honest, albeit painfully naive attempts at rhymes? How could I look down on the initials surrounded by pink hearts scribbled on the side of notebooks? Or carved into tree bark?

For all that my situation was unique, there was nothing unique about my feelings. And the dozens of sketches of Edward strewn around my messy house proved it.

Though I can hardly be accused of spending much time dwelling on such things, I had expected this kind of connection to match the only form of love I'd ever known - my father's. I'd expected it to be a stable, unyielding, dependable and predictable entity. I'd expected a quiet grace, contentment, the falling into place of things.

But falling in love and being in it, as it turned out, was surrendering to a perfectly unstable, unpredictable, undignified state that involved mind, body and spirit. And even as the sheer excitement and joy took over as a warm summery glow over my pale skin, in the shadows lurked all the justified fears that came with the fragility of it all.

In my case, those fears weren't quite the same, but still.

I stayed lost in my own head, my hand over Edward's on the gear shift, until we were parked outside the school.

The practical aspect of what was about to happen snapped me out of myself, but before I could make myself ask him how he wanted to go about things - about us - in public, he simply showed me.

He opened the door for me, a gesture I wouldn't have tolerated from anyone else, a different smile in place as everyone's walk to school became just a little slower, the collective of voices just a little lower.

And my first thought was, as always, true to myself.

_This should be interesting._

As if by mutual agreement, neither of us tried to hold hands. My steps didn't falter when I felt Edward's forearm lodge itself snuggly on the small of my back, his fingers curled over my hipbone in a caring hold, effectively claiming me.

Because I had decided so.

I was not his possession. I had always hated the expression of affection as such - it seemed false, egotistical and twisted. I didn't need him to tell me he was mine or to proclaim it myself; I wouldn't even do it for a false sense of safety, or durability of whatever we had and were on our way to having.

I let him do it - I liked the fact that he did - because, in face of the world and, more importantly, in face of every important reason I had not to, I had chosen to be with him.

It was this knowledge that both emboldened and calmed me as we entered the school. And I had to smile.

Walking as close to me as could be deemed proper, Edward looked _smug._

"I'll see you at lunch," I whispered, before reaching up for a brief, light kiss.

There might have been gasps, which made me want to chuckle. All this scandal over the new girl and the strange, not-quite-new boy.

_If only they knew._

Standing outside the room where we'd both be attending Spanish for the next hour - as unnecessary as that was, for me - was Angela. Her eyes reflected her kind empathy as she looked up to greet me with a brief nod.

I mimicked the motion and went to stand against the roughly painted wall, observing the passers-by, daring them to look me back in the eye.

When caught watching, they'd advert their gaze just as quickly, of course. There's no in between in human nature: either one is prepared to fight, or avoids confrontation at all costs.

Beside me, Angela finally struck up conversation:

"You and Edward Cullen."

It wasn't meant as a question. I kept looking at passing teenagers.

"Yes," I confirmed, and then succumbed to my own curiosity as I turned to see her answering expression.

Behind the glasses, her eyes had widened.

"Hmm."

"Indeed."

Our strange exchange was made stranger by her next statement:

"Eric asked me out," she blurted out.

I found myself wearing the same uneasy look she had on.

"Yorkie?" I asked, trying hard not to pass judgment. "Are you saying yes?"

"No. I mean, I'm not against the whole concept of dating, quite the contrary, it's just that he's Ben's friend and... Well, he's Eric."

I nodded in understanding. Most teenagers went through a strange phase of awkward adaptation, and unfortunately Eric was slapdash in the middle of it.

"How do I turn him down gently?" she asked, looking for advice.

"You could tell him his proximity makes your ovaries shrink," I suggested, not being helpful, and we both laughed.

"You've used that one, haven't you?" she threw back.

"Once or twice," I winked, following Mr. Estevez into the classroom.

The morning passed quickly, as the whispers and stares didn't really bother me, especially in face of the prospect of lunch with Edward.

As soon as I entered the cafeteria I spotted him, waiting for me, two trays of food in front of him.

"I asked the lunch ladies to prepare a salad for you," he announced, pointing towards the container resting on what I assumed to be my tray. "No cheese."

The small but kind gesture made me smile. "Thank you."

"What do you want to talk about?" he shot over the slices of pizza that would remain uneaten, looking positively different. Like someone I didn't even knew could exist in him.

"Tell me more," I demanded in a whisper.

I could see him struggling for a few seconds before, in a hushed voice, he started telling me of his family's history - the real one, starting with his own story. I forgot to eat as he painted the picture of a youth he possessed nothing more than faded, incomplete memories of, his rebirth - though he didn't put it as such - and the struggle that followed it.

He didn't speak of the years he spent away from the family, other than mentioning them in his account.

I knew they were burned in him, though. The names that would always haunt his thoughts, the shadows that would always stare back at him in the mirror. Pain he couldn't forgive himself for inflicting.

I learned about a lot of things that came with his reality; some that didn't affect us, and some, as his superhuman strength, that did.

But one aspect surprised me.

"I can't imagine not being able to sleep," I commented, after chewing quickly on a bit of salad; lunch hour was drawing to an end, and I had to hurry.

"Just provides us with more empty time to fill," he remarked, dismissive.

"That's not what I mean. Sleeping... isn't just about the rest, it's about comfort. It's what truly separates one day from the other, marking time. One bad day always ends... when you go to bed. All you have to do is make it one day at a time. I don't know how I would face life as one endless continuum of time."

"You learn patience," Edward pointed out, as I chewed on a cherry tomato. "There's something I should mention."

My eyes snapped up to his at this, as he looked uncomfortable.

"What is it?"

I had good reason to be concerned. There truly was no way of predicting what he was about to say - no impossible when it came to him.

"I... Our bodies don't work the same way after the change. What runs through our veins in no way resembles blood," he explained, "and the same happens with other fluids, such as saliva."

I took two seconds to mull this over.

"Alright... So what is it, if not water and enzymes?"

He swallowed, quite the appropriate reaction.

"It's a paralyzing venom. I can only assume it's safe if ingested..." he trailed off, and I had to smirk, imagining his face tinted pink, or red, as days old memory of a kiss played behind his eyes, "but it's extremely dangerous if it comes in contact with your blood stream."

"How so? Wouldn't it just paralyze me?"

He scowled, always so very sensitive to my dark brand of humor.

"No, that would be the least of its effects."

The strain on his voice was real, and it sobered me up.

"I'm guessing this makes any volunteered donation an impossibility."

Edward's face went blank in pure shock, and when he did speak, he was dangerously close to hyperventilating.

"You would actually... consider..." he stuttered out, eyes darkening considerably until he took a hold of himself again, almost clawing out tufts of his hair.

I bit my lip, mindful not to wound myself as he continued to mumble incoherently.

"Edward... look at me," I begged, reaching for his hands and trying to break him out of the nearly manic state I'd induced. I should have known better than to present him with the image - it was one thing for him to face the taking of my blood as a physical offense, an act of aggression, but for me to offer myself, to do so voluntarily...

Well, one could imagine what the prospect could do to him.

"Look at me," I tried again, and almost winced at the swirling black of his eyes as they bore into mine. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"None of it is your fault," he whispered, scanning the room as everyone left for their first class of the afternoon. "We should be heading to Biology."

I nodded and got up, my right hand never leaving his as we walked. Silently, we waited until everyone else had filtered in, lingering for a few seconds as Edward paused for breaths he didn't need.

As soon as we were, effectively, alone, I ran my hand over his forearm and up his arm, his different flesh almost unyielding under my fingertips as they traced his shoulder and went to rest over the side of his neck.

He looked me in the eye again, a tamer fire raging within, guilt feeding it when I was the one to blame.

"We can do this," I vowed. "_You_ can do this. No one said it would be easy, and it won't, but we can. I'll try my best to help."

He sighed, hard, once more, and nodded, running his fingers through the locks of my hair as I inched closer, a natural response to the fragrant cloud his breath had left behind.

"We really _should _go to class," he clipped, cutting through my lust-fueled intentions.

It was my turn to sigh, which definitely amused him.

Class, as it turned out, hadn't begun yet; Mr. Banner was still setting up the equipment for that day's activity: a movie.

The lights were shut and Edward and I were left to sit next to one another in the dark room. Extremely aware of the fact that we couldn't touch each other.

The pinpricks of proximity got worse as minutes wore on, not fast enough. Soon, my skin was crawling, and I had to shift in my seat, avoiding the once again golden eyes that consistently met mine in the dark.

My knee was bouncing up and down by the time I felt a cold gush of breath over my neck and collarbone, its effect as paralyzing as any form of venom.

By the time I looked to the side, Edward's attention seemed to be trained on the screen, his face a perfect mask of purity and innocence.

I smirked. _If it's war you want... I won't be nice._

Leaning back on the chair, I whispered, so softly I could barely hear it myself:

"It's sweet."

As I predicted, Edward's confused expression met me the next time I looked his way.

"What is?" he mouthed, careful so our exchange passed undetected.

I leaned into him, the proximity of my mouth to his ear rendering my voice useless as I breathed the answer:

"The venom on your lips."

His eyes were wide as saucers as I turned back to watch the rest of the movie.

_Victory._

We remained silent through the rest of it, as we walked to the car and even as he drove me home.

I was starting to believe I'd simply pushed it too far by the time he walked me to the door, but was soon proved wrong when he led me inside, closing the door behind us.

"What was it that you said," he asked, head cocked to the side, "about trying your best to help?"

I knew better than to think he was mad.

"You brought it on yourself," I answered, setting down my bag.

"That I did."

He came up to me from behind, fingers lingering over my hipbones and moving up until they settled over my waist, steady gushes of breath over my neck until I felt his lips there, tracing the warm flesh up and down.

I swallowed, shivering, not from the cold.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

By the time I turned, he was no longer there; by the time I'd reached the door, the Volvo was gone as well.

I grinned, ear to ear.

_Alright. You win this one._

But tomorrow was another day.

As rain started pouring heavily outside, I busied myself with the simple assignments given by teachers, all the while trying to figure out what to cook for dinner. I'd already moved to recipe books when I heard a knock on the door.  
_  
Tomorrow, he said?_

But, as it turns out, it wasn't Edward at the door.

"Ben, what are you doing here?" I asked, surprised.

"I... I... Well..." the boy stuttered, soaking wet on my porch, his eyes almost invisible behind foggy lenses.

"Use your words, Cheney," I prompted, after waiting for thirty seconds.

He let out a sigh of defeat instead, shaking his head.

"No, that's okay. I'm sorry I bothered you..."

"Just come in," I cut in, "and let me get you a towel."

After having dried some, and having some warm tea, he finally seemed at ease enough to talk, looking miserable as he sat at my kitchen table.

"I messed up with Angela. Now other guys are asking her out... And she'll say yes, someday."

So this was about Yorkie.

"You have to make things right, Ben. It's up to you," I told him, careful not to betray a friend's confidence.

"It's not that, it's just... I apologized for what happened at the dance, and she said I was forgiven, but it's not the same. She won't even talk to me, let alone go out... I don't understand it. Women are so damn complicated."

I thought back to the way he'd left Angela at the dance, after the courage she'd shown in asking him in the first place. I thought of the way he'd let a joke over their height disparity wound him enough to ignore her, when she was left to suffer the humiliation of being ignored. And I grimaced.

"Not really, Ben. She knows you care about her, and she does care about you, it's just... That's not enough. Other things are important, such as being able to stand up in public and acknowledge her," _which was exactly what Edward did for me today. _"She needs to feel that you care about her enough to show it to the world. To be proud of being by her side, other people's opinions be damned. She was willing to do the same, and you disappointed her."

"How am I supposed to do that now, if she won't even look at me?" he asked.

"Start with a kind gesture, and work from there."

He seemed confused, and I realized I'd need to be more involved than I'd intended. Suddenly, a thought struck me as I looked over to Little Guy, a chubby little hairball sleeping atop another chair.

"Angela loves animals, right? Doesn't she even want to become a veterinarian?"

Ben nodded, confused.

"Well, this cat started coming around a while ago... And I can't keep it. How about you take it, see if she'll look after it? Maybe you could even offer to help."

It was a nice solution for us both. The cat's living situation with me was sketchy at best, what with my boyfriend's particular diet.

After I agreed to take him back if anything was wrong, I drove Ben to Angela's, as it would be nothing short of cruel to let the boy - and the cat - walk miles in the pouring rain, carrying bags laden with cat food, a blanket and a few toys.

I didn't stick around long enough to make sure, but I had a feeling Angela would agree to take him in. And the cat, as well.

My empty house greeted me with its sad echoes as I got back, aware of the fact that I'd just parted with the one creature I'd shared my space with in almost a year.

But also aware that I finally had something to look forward to, someone to wait for.

That, for all that I was still physically alone, I was no longer lonely.


	18. Bad, Bad Vampire

**A/N: Hey everyone!**

**I know, I know – the chapter's title should be **_**Bad, Bad Writer **_**instead, but real life got in the way. I promise to make this up to everyone with a speedy update, or a couple ;)**

**Thank you for all the support sent my way – I hope you enjoy it!**

**Oh, and pippapear rocks my socks. On a regular basis. I'm the luckiest girl alive.**

**~*~**

Due to a hectic week of high school, during which every bit of free time was spent with Edward, the painting I'd started had been left under a white sheet, the proverbial bride to be, both virginal and tainted by hidden desires underneath.

When Friday came around, my fingers were itching to mix some oils; I went to work passionately on the canvas as soon as I got home, altering the original concept and colors, as I now knew what I wanted from it.

I lost track of time as I applied layer after layer, testing shades, seeing the image in my mind coming to life through my hands and brushes, voices whispering in my ears of forms and shifting color. If not for the murky grey glow that assaulted my bedroom, I would have never noticed it was morning; my lower back and shoulders were incredibly stiff and sore and a heavy band of pain was pulsing behind my eyes, and yet I didn't stop.

I blamed it on the paint fumes.

When Edward knocked on the door it felt as if I'd just closed my eyes and let my head hit the pillow.

"I'm coming," I mumbled, half-sighing, half-yawning, knowing he'd still hear it, moved by urgency down the stairs.

I was able to open my eyes just enough to see white cotton and track pants. Then I remembered; in a brave attempt to rub the sleep out of my face as I shivered, I mumbled from behind my hand:

"We were supposed to go jogging... I'm so sorry, Edward, I completely forgot about it..."

Which was unforgivable, considering I'd been the one suggesting it in the first place. Edward found the whole concept of jogging a bit ludicrous, and kept telling me I didn't need any exercise. It took some pushing to make him see that my body needed an outlet, needed to _move, _and, of course, he offered to come with me.

"That's alright, we can go some other time," he reassured me, almost relieved, stepping inside with ease. His demeanor was starkly different from just a few days before; he was now truly comfortable around me or, at the very least, comfortable enough to put on a good show. "Good morning-"

I dodged his kiss, feeling like a crumpled heap of paint stained clothing and messy hair, and quickly formed an attack plan.

"Just give me ten minutes to shower, get into fresh clothes and down two cups of strong coffee and we'll be out," I promised, my sluggish brain trying to piece together the long chain of actions I'd need to get through to actually get on with the list I'd just spouted out.

But my boyfriend's skilled hands were curled over my shoulders, his long fingers working all the sore spots from the night before and I sighed, melting a little, the bigger part of my brain screaming at me to just go to bed again. Maybe I could convince him to be my pillow.

"No stimulants, not when you're this sleepy," he whispered in my ear, continuing his assault on my back and moving his lips to my neck.

"You're leaving?" I jested, angling my neck sharply as he hit a painful knot right by my shoulder blade.

It was pitifully easy for him to affect me, but more so right then. Human beings have four basic needs: food, drink, sleep and sex.

I was hungry, thirsty and sleep deprived, and his presence was making it hard not to channel it all to lust.

"I don't think I'll be physically able to leave the house if you keep that up."

A strange silence took hold of him and I turned to squint at his face, mind still too muddled to properly analyze what was happening but sharp enough to see something was off.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, Bella," he lied, badly. "I just wanted to run an idea by you... Alice and, well, just about everyone has been pushing me to invite you over, meet the family."

That got me awake.

In school, I didn't interact with the rest of the Cullens other than the occasional nod, smile or greeting.

I had to wonder if it was really necessary but, then again, I had to remind myself that Edward wasn't your usual boy. He wasn't even a boy to begin with.

And clearly this was important to him.

"We should do it. Does it have to be today?"

He looked extremely relieved, as if he'd been expecting me to scream. Like he'd just told me I'd be entering a vampires' lair.

"No, of course not... we're heading North this afternoon, it's been a while since we had a weekend out as a family. But maybe next week, after school?"

I nodded, the heaviness of sleep quickly becoming uncomfortable.

"Can we go out to jog next Saturday morning, bright and early?" I asked him, unrelenting and hopeless.

He made a face, but I knew he'd surrender all the same.

"I don't think I'm going this weekend," he sighed, burying his face on my neck again and making me shiver, my shot nerves pulling and aching like overstretched rubber bands, ready to snap under the pressure of desire as I twisted my body to fit in his arms. "I'll go some other time. I don't like the idea of leaving you alone."

"You have Alice to tell you everything will be fine. And you can also use your cell phone, Edward," I admonished, knowing it was for the best. That this co-dependency - bordering on obsession - had to be managed instead of enabled.

And it took every ounce of my remaining strength to do so instead of pulling him with me to my bedroom.

"Monday, Edward," I groaned, pushing on his chest and bribing him with kisses to get him out of the house, making very unimpressive progress.

"But I could stay," he whispered, whining, his hands running over my sides and his thumbs drawing circles on my ribcage. I bit my lip.

"Monday," I promised, knowing full well my own control was slipping.

Fortunately, his took over; I drank a cup of tea after watching him leave and went to bed, strangely forlorn already.

Unexpectedly, the rest of the weekend went by quickly, with the painting as my main focus of attention and a short outing for coffee with Angela.

Before I knew it, Edward was back and we were spending our lunch hour at the library, between books and whispers, the most privacy we could find without leaving school.

"It must be horrible to listen to everyone's thoughts," I mused, flipping through a book on astrophysics. "To know everyone's secrets, and carry that weight."

"I block them out as much as I possibly can," Edward admitted, a fray of nervousness around his carefully calm facade, making me wonder exactly how much he could block, and how much he ended up hearing. "And most people's secrets are so terribly predictable."

"Tell me what you can hear," I asked, trying to grasp what it would be like - unlimited access across the ultimate frontier of what made a human being unique.

Pulling on his auburn hair, he looked doubtful; but, after I assured him I wouldn't want to know _who _the thoughts belonged to, he relented.

In a deep voice, he let out snippets of internal chatter:

_"I can't believe I lost it. She'll kill me. How could I have lost the damn ring..._

"Does anyone even notice it? It was so painful to get waxed...

"If he finds out I have a crush on him, I'll never see the end of it...

"I wonder if she uses that sexy British accent with him in bed..."

I chuckled at the last one, and Edward just smirked uneasily, staring at the table, as if not to let his eyes wander over to the thought's author.

"I don't have a British accent," I commented, still laughing.

"In his mind, you do," my boyfriend sneered, his whole body a solid mask of barely contained possessiveness, and we both turned to our books as one of my classmates passed our table, a gossip magazine under her arm. I frowned.

"Not everyone has it in them to read Tolstoy, love."

I nodded at Edward's comment, but suddenly something struck me as odd.

_Wait a moment..._

"How do you know I'm reading Tolstoy?"

Silence. Edward looked panicked for a split second before answering, with complete confidence:

"You told me so."

My eyes narrowed.

"No... I didn't. I would have remembered that. How can you - it's never left my nightstand..." I mused, out loud, and, of course, the only explanation came to me.

Edward had been in my bedroom. But I found myself wondering _how_ could he - we spent most of our days together, and he didn't exactly have the key to my place**.**

"It's really not what you think, Bella, just listen to me, I was only there while you were sleeping," he tried to explain, and I was seething, not to mention baffled by the fact that he would think that breaking into my bedroom while I was asleep was somehow better than breaking into my bedroom in general, invading the sanctity of my space. "I never meant any harm, you have to know that..."

_Bad, bad vampire._

I felt the air vibrating around me as my skin crackled and popped in the need to yell or inflict bodily harm.

But words wouldn't hurt enough, and I couldn't exactly kill (or even physically hurt) the dead.

I settled for inflicting a different kind of pain, and met Edward's shameful and frightened expression with a demand.

"Give me your car keys."

That surprised him in a way that would be humorous, had I been thinking clearly enough to see it through mymuddled swamp of indignation and anger.

"What?"

"The keys to the Volvo. Now."

Confused but obedient, he slid the keys onto the table and I snatched them, getting up and packing my things.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

My curt answer must have stunned him, because he didn't follow me out, and was nowhere to be seen when I finally reached the car with the decisive steps of a woman on a mission.

After taking a few seconds to adjust the seat and mirrors, I pealed out of the parking lot harshly, mistreating the nice engine, before hitting the first curve.

As I did, going three times the speed I should have been keeping, I pulled on the emergency break, sending the tail of the car spinning violently, burned rubber to prove it.

And though I possessed no extra-sensory abilities whatsoever, in that moment, I could almost swear I could see Edward cringe.

Curiously, abusing my boyfriend's most prized possession was a soothing exercise; when Rosalie dropped him off, several hours later, I had already taken care of a load of laundry and changed, ready for him to arrive.

"Bella..." he started, firmly planted on my doorstep as I opened the door, but I wouldn't stand his apology.

"What time are they expecting us?"

"What?"

"Your family," I spelled out, seeing and almost_ enjoying_ his panicked expression. "We talked about me meeting them today."

"We can go some other day, right now we should talk..."

"We can talk later."

I handed him back the keys to the Volvo and got in, hearing no protests; maybe he'd finally adjusted to my being furious. I heard him sniff a couple of times, undoubtedly disgusted at the lingering and offending odor of burnt rubber.

"How long have the couples been together?" I broke the silence, willing him to ease his grip on that wheel just enough not to break it.

"Decades. Esme was turned a few years after me, and Rosalie found Emmett shortly after being turned herself. Alice and Jasper took a tad longer, but still."

And all those years, Edward had been the odd man out.

"They never had any other mates," I remarked.

This seemed to confuse him.

"Of course they didn't, and they never will. That's the way it is in our world. We mate for life."

_Eternity, _I wanted to correct him, but the word didn't come out as I stared out to the darkening woods, almost engulfing the road.

The weight of this knowledge settled on my chest as I processed it and what it meant for me and Edward.

The idea of a future was something I hadn't entertained yet. There was still much to understand, and it was all so new. A bond that binding, that permanent, was something I couldn't even comprehend.

"You told me just about everyone wanted me to come to the house," I remembered, changing the topic. "Rosalie still has a problem with me, then."

My affirmation struck home, I could tell.

"The rest of us will try our best to keep her on a leash but, in case she does get out of line, just try to shrug it off. She envies what you have, what you are; it all comes from a dark place built on a mixture of envy and self-loathing."

His speech was meant to prepare me but, as we slowed our way into a clearing, gravel crunching happily beneath the tires, I rebelled on instinct against his depiction of his sister. He'd told me her story, and that alone was enough.

"Rosalie isn't just being petty and difficult, Edward. She has a right not to like my intrusion in the family, that I know your secret - she has a right not to like _me. _In a lot of ways, her concerns are for you, and what would happen if it all went badly."

His face hardened.

"If I killed you."

I nodded.

"Or if I left."

I didn't mean it as a threat, disturbed as I might still have been after finding out about his nightly excursions into my bedroom; but my words carelessly stabbed him all the same, and he looked disheartened and broken, avoiding my eyes from across the console.

Avoiding the oppressive atmosphere I could do nothing about, I exited the car to see the house: huge in size, the building was all angles in blinding white and glass.

In a word, it was a monstrosity, sticking out like a sore thumb in the midst of thick woods, and I battled the urge to cringe, imagining a nice log cabin in its place, something that would blend in with its surroundings.

Edward led me inside, tentative and still wounded, and I knew this wasn't how he'd pictured it; that after all this time, he'd finally found someone he could actually bring into his life, or existence, and ironically I felt guilty for taking some of the joy away from it.

But I was still far too upset to forgive him on the foyer.

Inside, the house was as cold, white and devoid of life as the outside had been; it was all impeccable, pristine, expensive, ostentatious. This charade of a family home was so utterly barren that I would have preferred coffins, spiderwebs and dusty skulls over red velvet in its stead.

So I spoke of the only object that held my eye - because it had pleased me immensely.

"Your piano."

Though quiet, my voice still rang through the too-quiet house. Edward nodded and came closer, still brooding, as I felt - more than saw - his family entering the living room.

Their paces were almost human, but too regular, too studied; their faces all held some degree of a smile.

And they were all there, except for Rosalie.

Carlisle and Esme, easily pinpointed - as they were the only ones I had yet to see - came forth first, the doctor's face a mask of warmth and his wife smiling in a way that made me uncomfortable.

"Bella, it's lovely to finally meet you. We've heard a lot about you from our son."

"It's great to meet you as well, Dr. Cullen."

It was true. I held Carlisle in my highest esteem already. He'd forsaken his nature entirely and devoted centuries to helping others.

But, most of all, he'd saved Edward.

"Please, it's Carlisle."

"You've made our son happy," his wife cut in, that warm smile turning my stomach. "I could never thank you enough for that."

And then, she did something I did _not _expect.

She hugged me.

Her skin and temperature were both very similar to Edward's - and, therefore, familiar.

But I stiffened all the same, petrified by this display of affection.

Facing me, quite a few feet away, I could see Jasper, undoubtedly in tune with what I was feeling. I could see him cringe.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," Esme drew back, not a second later, concern etched on her face where hurt should have been.

"No, I'm... I apologize. I just didn't know how to react, for a second. Believe me, it's a pleasure to meet you. It truly is."

It was. But Esme's motherly gesture was something I didn't know how to deal with. My own mother had been absent all my life and the reality of my inability to feel this kind of affection saddened me.

Alice stepped forward, her smile as cheerful as ever, and after greeting her I had to ask:

"Did you like the portrait?"

Immediately, she knew I was referring to the one I'd drawn in the cafeteria.

Smiling, she shook her head.

"No. Don't get me wrong, it was just too much. I can't like a painting that seems to showcase all my fragilities, but I'm in awe of the talent behind it."

The compliment wasn't lost onme, and I thanked her.

Jasper introduced himself from a distance, which I understood. Edward had warned me of this earlier.

_Jasper won't come close. He's the one that still struggles the most with this lifestyle, and will likely take no chances with you._

I could only imagine the pain my presence - my scent, the beat of my heart - was inducing, and Jasper's smile let me know of my mistake.

I was being empathetic towards the empath and, of course, he could feel it.

Emmett was the most carefree of all, stepping right up and delivering a strong pat to my back, his big boisterous voice ringing through the house, breaking the silence that threatened to creep in and engulf us all.

"It's about time Edward brought home a girl. I'd already given up on him. In fact, I've registered him in several gay chat rooms, trying to get..."

"_Emmett."_

The cutting voice came from the back of the house, effectively putting a stop to the laughs that had erupted, but the vampire by my side remained his untroubled self. Edward quirked an eyebrow as his sister came into view, her face a mask of cold disdain as she stepped right up to me.

"Rosalie," I acknowledged, curious as to why she decided to come after all.

"I heard what you said in the car," she admitted, surprising me, and went on, her icy eyes melting infinitesimally. "I might not like the way it's happened, but I _am_ happy my brother found someone."

I recognized the immense effort it must have taken to say that and thanked her; Edward seemed the most surprised of all. The family scattered around, taking turns asking about my father, places where we'd been, careful not to push for information but obviously dying for something.

"What are your plans after finishing high school, Bella?" Esme asked warmly, and I felt my boyfriend stiffen.

"I've given it some thought, but haven't reached a definitive decision yet. Maybe I'll study Art History in the Sorbonne; or maybe I'll stay in the US and follow Anthropology, or move to Italy to learn how to sculpt. But these are all still ideas." As a means to diffuse attention, and out of curiosity myself, I asked: "What do you usually do to pass time?"

Jasper's quiet voice delivered the answer:

"A bit of everything. Edward has music, Carlisle has his job, Esme decorates and cares for the garden, Rosalie is our grease monkey, Alice looks out for us and buys us all more clothes we could ever need... I like reading books, and sometimes let Emmett drag me into some bet."

This made me smile.

"Bet? What kind of bet?"

"Usually over wrestling matches or some sort of video game," Edward grumbled, still in a bad mood in spite of how well the night had progressed.

"But what does the winner get?" I insisted, not being able to imagine what could they possibly want. Their wealth probably doubled mine several times over.

"Usually, to humiliate the loser," Emmett smiled, showing off his dimples.

"You guys could race each other, show off for Bella," Alice pitched in. "I'd redecorate the winner's bedroom."

Her offer didn't impress them.

"Eh, sorry, Alice, are you sure you meant it as a reward?"

Emmett's joke awarded him a punch on the shoulder, and he whined, even though it didn't hurt.

"I'll trick out the winner's car," Rosalie offered, "or bike," she added, thinking of Jasper.

This made them consider it, but I knew why Edward was being difficult. He didn't like others messing with his car.

"I have an idea," I pipped in. "I'll show the winner my tattoo."

Edward's eyes just about bulged out of their sockets and Emmett quickly shouted an:

"I'm in!"

"Me too," Jasper's lilt surprised me, his posture showing a little more ease regarding my presence.

But Edward was seething.

"We will not compete for this."

"Yes, you will," I laughed, amused at his tantrum. "And I remember you saying something about being the fastest. If that's true, than it truly won't matter that they're competing, will it?"

That shut him up, but I could still see the angry set to his jaw.

Everyone moved outside, Emmett's banter and speculation over the tattoo's location further enraging poor Edward.

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"Alright," Carlisle's voice rang, evoking the kind of order that came with respect. "Let's make this fair. You'll start here," he directed, drawing a line in the ground with a twig, "and the winner will be the first one to run to the northwestern stream and back. And no cheating, or the perpetrator will be disqualified."

Of course. Alice would see it if one of them even thought about it.

The guys took their positions calmly, though I could tell Edward was still upset about it.

"On your marks, boys," Carlisle instructed. "Get set. Go!"

The word wasn't fully out before the three were out of sight, the blur of their movements too rapid for me to process.

"Oh, boy," Esme whispered, her eyes following their shapes long past what I could see.

Alice giggled; turning to her, I asked:

"Edward already knows, right? You've already seen who wins the race."

"Oh yes, I know who will win, but I've gotten pretty good at blocking him out."

That made me smile.

"Maybe we can go for a run ourselves," Carlisle suggested to the women, and I thanked him, knowing he was giving us privacy.

I counted less than a minute and a half before Edward seemed to materialize in front of me, the only evidence that he indeed hadn't, being the swaying trees at the edge of the clearing, where he emerged.

And, about a second later, appeared the others.

"Aw, man," Emmett whined, "that is simply unfair. You'll get to see the goods anyway, you could at least let one of us take a peek..."

"Not going to happen," Edward rumbled, in a much better mood as he approached me.

"Show me your room, and I'll show you your prize."

His eyes turned to slits at my teasing.

"I'll just go in, grab a shower real quick..."

"_Out, _Emmett," Edward snarled, already ushering me in.

And I had to smile. Because no matter how much we still had a lot to talk about, I'd put him through enough.

And the fact that I had a tattoo didn't seem to bother him much, either. In fact, he seemed rather eager to take a look.


	19. Blurred Light

**A/N: As promised, a speedy update. This chapter offers us a little more insight on Bella's past, and there are more revelations to come.**

**And, let's face it, this is as much mine as it is Pippapear's.**

**Hope you all enjoy it!**

The house was silent as Edward took me up to his room, an ample space that took up the majority of the third floor. As the glass wall allowed the rare moon to shine in between wisps of grey, only a small lamp light was necessary.

The room itself was practical, but classical: shelves for music, notebooks and books; a _chaise longue_ and a leather sofa.

And, of course, no bed.

He stood behind me in silence, waiting for me to speak.

"When did you come in my bedroom?"

He struggled with answering, stalling.

"I've been going there at night, almost every night, since the day you gave me a ride home."

Fury trickled up my spine in the shape of a shiver, but my eyes were trained on the outside view and his reflection in the glass.

"Aren't you going to ask me why?"

"I don't believe you'd have a good answer, because there isn't one. Do you have any idea of how wrong it was - to come into my room without my knowledge at the moment when I'm most vulnerable, to violate my trust, with no sense of boundary, taking away my choice?"

Eyes downcast, he didn't answer. I sighed. I'd taken it too far.

"You have to understand why this is so important to me," I started, crossing my arms under my chest. "I think I was about eleven or twelve when Charlie and I had a trip to Russia. I don't remember much of it... But I remember this one night when it was snowing, and we stayed in a small inn on the outskirts of Moscow.

"I was sound asleep when I heard a loud crash... and I sat up in bed and saw my dad leaning over the window ledge, shouting for help. Later, he told me a guy had scaled up the neon sign of the inn and tried to enter our room through the window, possibly looking for something to steal. Fortunately, Charlie woke up with the noise and pushed him down.

"It was the first time I remember feeling scared. But it was also the first time I remember feeling safe, because my father was there, and that was enough. After his death, I had a hard enough time trying not to lock myself in my bedroom every night. I had to learn how to live with no safety net, and I had never felt that I needed one with you."

"Until this morning," Edward understood, riddled with guilt. "I know it's no excuse for it, but, from the first day... it was never about potentially harming you. It was always about succumbing to my need to understand you, my need to be in your presence, acclimate myself to your scent and watch over you. Before, I've tried to be a good man for Carlisle, for my family. But now, more than anything, I wish for nothing more than to be a good man to you, and to protect you, not be the one you need protection from."

"I believe you," I replied, giving him a smile and knowing he'd see it in my reflection. _And I believe in you._

"Did you really have to take the Volvo, though?" he asked, cringing, and my smile got wider.

"Let's just say that I have a track record with vandalizing vehicles... and I've found it a surprisingly effective way of delivering punishment. But you've suffered enough," I added, seeing his horror-stricken face. "The next time you enter my bedroom will be if I ask you... _when_ I ask you."

I watched his eyes darken at the implication in my words, but he said nothing.

Having shed my jacket as soon as we came in the house, I was only wearing a long-sleeved button up. Smiling, I let my fingers wander to the bottom button, and popped it open with ease.

"Bella, what are you doing?" he asked me, his voice almost inaudible.

I popped open the second button, and the third, until there was only one holding the shirt closed, pulling the fabric over my chest.

Turning around, I pulled the right side of the shirt open so he could see. Edward's eyes stayed connected with mine, silently asking for permission before raking my body and settling on the right half of my abdomen.

My breathing quickened as I felt his eyes on me, a surge of excitement taking over.

The tattoo stretched from the top of my right hipbone and curled upwards and to the left, ending a couple of inches bellow my breast and curling around my bellybutton. Its flowing lines weren't the traditional black, but brown instead.

"I attended an Indian wedding," I explained, my own voice dropping as he was still staring at the artwork, still staring at me, "and loved the henna tattoos. After having my appendix taken out," I ran a finger over the place where I knew the pink scar was hiding under ink, "I decided to turn a bad memory into something beautiful. I drew the design and got it tattooed a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday."

He swallowed thickly and stepped forward slowly, giving me plenty of room to cover myself up, if I wished.

But I had no qualms with being bare before him. And, in time, I'd find a way to bare my soul.

Edward went to sit on the _chaise longue_, arms stretched in my direction as if to beckon me to stand between his thighs. I went so willingly, very aware and pleased about being with him alone in his house, his space.

His frame and expression told me of tension as he held his breath at my proximity, ever mindful of what he thought he could handle, of how much was safe. His eyes roamed the tattoo and he inhaled, and my scent seemed to paradoxically relax him, like a drug addict's fix. Languorously, he brought his hands up to my hips, stroking and nuzzling the skin after kissing the hidden scar.

My head fell back slightly at the feeling of his lips and cold skin against my sensitive skin and tension coiled up in my abdomen, thick and lush as the mood, but it was interrupted by a gush of cold breath.

"My family is coming back," he informed me, dejectedly, and I bent down to give him a kiss, though that didn't erase his frown at seeing me button my shirt.

"It's late anyway, Edward. You should take me home."

And take me home he did, but the longing in his eyes and the prolonged kiss as we bid goodnight to each other let me know this wouldn't be a restful night for him. As if he could feel my hesitance, he reassured me, in his most soothing voice:

"I'll still keep watch over you, but I'll do it from afar. I promise I'll never enter your room again... without prior invitation."

I watched the flame in his eyes, my own bold words shot back at me and concluded that it wouldn't be a restful night for me, either.

The painting, on the other hand, was the object of amazing progress.

The next day of school dawned clearer, but Edward assured me the clouds would stick around. In the car, I felt compelled to ask him something I'd thought about many a time.

"Does it bother you that you weren't my first kiss?"

I saw his jaw lock, effectively rendering his answer useless.

"Yes," he delivered, all the same. "You were _my _first kiss. But... I understand this is a different age. Who was it with? Brian?"

His hurried questions made me feel he had very little understanding for it, indeed.

"No. It was Sebastien."

"But I thought you said he was..." Edward protested.

"And he _is,_" I reinforced, "which is precisely why I kissed him. I spent the better part of my life hopping between continents, I knew better than to get attached to someone. Sebastien was a sweet boy, and it was Paris... And because he was who he was, it made it safe. No chance of getting heartbroken. I don't regret it."

It was silent for a while, but I thought I knew the inner workings of Edward's mind well enough to know he was mulling something over.

"Have you ever... been intimate with anyone?" his question finally came.

And I was relieved to answer, as my honesty wouldn't hurt him.

"No. To me, that was always associated with a relationship, with emotional atachment, a deep connection. I'd never had that, until now."

It could have happened, with Brian. But it never did, and knowing what I did now, I knew it had been for the best. I'd never experienced a real connection - a passionate connection - before Edward.

And my boyfriend's expression spoke of relief as well as we pulled onto the high school parking lot.

Things seemed to be balanced, if for a moment. The revelations that came with Edward's vampirism were behind us, and his family had more or less accepted me.

My existence in Forks was no longer a search and fulfillment of a promise; I'd found what I'd been unknowingly looking for, as strangely as that might have happened.

After another week of throwing myself diligently into painting, the canvas was ready; I called Edward in the middle of the night so he'd come see it, not wanting to wait until morning.

He followed me eagerly up the stairs, and I struggled to not point out that this wasn't his usual route into my bedroom before we got in.

Massive, the canvas was covered in the white sheet, and I felt nervous about pulling it off, not knowing what his reaction would be.

But as soon as it hit the floor, his expression shifted from guarded curiosity to awe.

"It's impressionistic, isn't it? I've only ever seen your portraits, this wasn't what I was expecting."

The scene depicted a tangled mass of cold and wet woods; at its center, a ray of sunshine created a dissonant image: under it, flowers bloomed in warm colors, reacting to the light.

But that wasn't what I wanted him to _see._

"Edward, take a few steps back and squint. Tell me what you can see."

He tried to squint at it, stepping back further and out into the corridor, but nothing but frustration radiated out of him.

"You know I can see it just as clearly, Bella. It's useless. What is it that I'm supposed to be seeing?"

"Just try harder," I begged him. "Close your eyes almost all the way."

After doing so, it was only a couple of seconds before a triumphant sound erupted from him, and I laughed as well.

"I can see it. It's well hidden, but there's no denying it. It's..."

"It's you," I finished, stepping away and squinting myself.

As the image blurred in reduced vision, the blue flowers became the back of a shirt, and orange patches of sunshine over leafs created the illusion of his hair. The rest was just a game of light and shadows - but there he was. Blurred into the picture. The ray of sunshine.

"I love it," he whispered on my neck, kissing against it and talking about the painting at length until sleep took me.

I woke up disappointed at finding him gone, and the painting was hanging on the wall opposite my bed.

Things were close to wonderful, and I should have known it couldn't last.

That the flesh might stretch and close over an open wound, but that it will stay there, unresolved, infected, ready to start hurting again at a moment's notice.

It was such a simple thing.

I was in the kitchen, nothing but a thin, sleeveless shirt over my torso as I ironed my clean laundry, sweating because of the heavy steam and the heating system I didn't want to turn off, in fear that it wouldn't come back on again. My forehead, my back, even my thighs were slick with sweat.

It was such an innocuous moment.

I was pulling my damp hair back and into a ponytail with my fingers, sighing in relief as the tendrils were off my overheated skin.

And I looked up.

I looked up to see an old calendar; daisies, faded behind the blue numbers, adorned the months.

It was the calendar of the year I was born.

Charlie kept it up, taped to the wall, until we left, and I would never dream of taking it down.

He'd scribbled little notes alongside certain dates, and I'd read them so many times as a young girl that I'd never forgotten them, not even when we moved to London.

_The day we found out we were pregnant._

_The first sonogram. We saw the baby's heartbeat._

_Renee thought she could feel the baby move._

_Woke up with the baby kicking. It's a feisty one._

_Second sonogram. Everything was perfect. It's a girl!_

_We've agreed on a name. Isabella._

_The room is painted and ready. Renee is having Braxton Hicks.  
_  
And, of course, the final two:

_Our little girl is beautiful._

_The family is finally whole, healthy and home._

After September, there were no more entries.

I was looking at the year when everything had been perfect. Before Renee left. Before my father was left to fend for himself and a six-month old baby, brokenhearted, scarred and scared.

He'd admitted as much to me, later.

But I wasn't looking at those dates.

In a tight script, the word _December _mocked me.

Because, until that moment, I hadn't noticed we were this close to it. That I was that close to the one-year anniversary of my father's death.

The heaviness in my chest and on my shoulders intensified, weight that had crept slowly onto me, as my mind unconsciously predicted what I knew would eventually come, but could not rationally face.

The memories came, unbridled, and I collapsed onto the bony kitchen chair, my breaths shallow because my chest ached so much.

Fresh tears ran down my face, mingling with my previous sweat, as it unfolded behind my lids.

Not flashes of it; that could have been infinitesimally better, but no.

Frame by frame, the most painful day of my life unfolded as if I was still there, trapped in it.

A part of me, a significant part of me would always be.

Unthinkingly, my hands sought the carton that held my cigarettes; in seconds, I had one hanging off my lips, its ember flame too far away for me to distinguish, as my vision had turned within.

But the air laced with poison and death didn't snap me out of it as it snaked its way into my lungs.

Quite the contrary, it seemed to pull me right in.

~*~

_One Year Ago_

It was an extremely cold December in London and Alexis had returned from South Africa, where she was attending college, for the duration of the weekend. We'd decided to seize the opportunity to have a slumber party of sorts, catch up and, in all probability, get really drunk.

I'd told Charlie I'd be home a little before lunch on Sunday, and I kept my word.

It wasn't unusual for me to be late, quite the contrary; sometimes I even did it on purpose, just to anger and annoy him further.

But _not this time. _I was on time.

The house was so eerily quiet.

That was my first thought, as Charlie always had the TV on while he was home, lest he was in bed. He was never actually watching, which just made it an aggravating little quirk I'd decided to stop fighting a long time ago.

But, by then, I'd grown used to it.

His keys were on the bowl that was perched on top of the small table by the door, so I knew he was home.

_How strange._

I set my bag on the couch and advanced through the house, growing agitated.

_The door was locked when I got home. Our apartment is high up. An attacker would have to have wings..._

But, in spite of the assurances I was offering myself, dread crept up on me, thick and cold as ice.

I padded the carpeted corridor slowly, scared.

My dad's bedroom door was wide open.

He was the first thing I saw, lying on the massive bed.

I ran the three steps that separated it from the door, seeing him there, motionless and eyes closed.

He could have been sleeping.

He could have just slept in.

But there was blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth and splattered on his pillow, as if coughed up, and he wasn't breathing.

And his skin looked like it was covered in a thick layer of chalk.

The second it took me to see this was followed by a flurry of activity: I checked his nonexistent pulse, once, twice, and then spread the covers open, trying to see any obvious wounds, but there was nothing there.

_He is so cold._

I did as I was taught in a course I'd taken a couple of years back - compressions and mouth to mouth. It took me a few seconds to realize that the metallic taste on my lips was his blood, but my mind was set on pushing on his chest, again and again, until my hands hurt. I only stopped to call the emergency services, begging them to hurry.

_Push._

_1_

_2_

_3_

_4_

_5_

_Breathe._

_He is so cold._

The blood around his mouth had congealed and his face was set in a disturbing mask of pain. That couldn't be his face - that couldn't be the last expression on my father's face.

It couldn't.

He was young. He was strong.

The medics would know what to do. They'd bring him back.

I ran to open the door for them, and then ran right back to his bedside, starting compressions all over again.

The young paramedics ran with me until they saw him.

Achingly slow, they took his pulse and his temperature, exchanging meaningful looks as I yelled them to do something.

They didn't.

One started to pack up as the other made a phone call.

I yelled at them. I cursed at them. I cursed them.

I begged.

I restarted compressions yet again, until one of them ripped me off of my father's motionless body, I kicked and clawed at the paramedic, wishing I had the strength to do more.

But my arms hurt.

My entire body hurt, but _nothing _could possibly hurt more than accepting what they were trying to tell me, again and again.

They covered him in a sheet and told me to wait in the living room until the coroner arrived to pronounce it.

I kicked them both out of the bedroom and closed the door, ripping the sheet off and throwing it on the floor.

Later I read their report. In it, they stated I was in shock, yelling hysterically.

I don't remember any of this.

I remember sitting on that bed, no sounds but the faint murmurs between the two men in the living room and my gasping breath.

That god-awful mask on his face.

I sat on that bed with him until they managed to take me away, my throat raw and everything, every single thing in my worthless body screaming in the agony that seeped out of my soul.

He'd lived for me.

But my father was alive no more.


	20. Pandora's Box

**A/N: I know it took a while, but here it is – quite the important chapter, too.**

**Pippapear warms my little heart, every single time. I idolize her with all its little fibers.**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

_One Year Ago_

I waited in the cold street for just under ten minutes; somehow, I'd thought the meeting would be held in some dirty alley, but we'd agreed to a lively, brightly lit avenue instead.

Not that I still had Charlie to save me from getting arrested, but that didn't matter anymore.

The ostentatious car pulled up and I got in, briefly scanning our surroundings as the girl turned to me.

"Heya, Bella," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet and too high pitched. "Hadn't seen ye in a few days. You off somewhere again?"

"No," I answered, curtly, still staring out the window, no longer in fear of getting caught.

"Well, if you're about next weekend, there's a party..."

She prattled on; even though I wasn't hearing, I knew she was talking of parties and bands and acquaintances.

But I just couldn't deal with it.

"Did you bring it?" I finally asked, after she stopped talking.

"Sure, sure... Here it is. But that's a lot, I'd cut that up if I were you."

I nodded like a good girl as she handed me the small, innocuous looking shopping bag, and deposited a small roll of bills in her hand.

"Thanks again for meeting me on such short notice."

Not that she'd ever refuse. I was a good, loyal client after all.

"No problem, Bella. I'll see you around."

_No. You won't._

I got out of the car and walked home, too absorbed to even be afraid anymore.

Fear had abandoned me for good, that night.

The house was too quiet, something I hadn't yet adjusted to, and never would. I recoiled to see the long black coat I'd worn to the funeral still hanging from the coat rack.

On top of the coffee table was the box Mr. Harker, one of my father's most loyal advisers, had passed on to me, as the will had specified. Not even he had known what it contained.

And I hadn't been prepared for what I'd found inside, either.

My father's death had brought only lacerating pain in layers I wouldn't - couldn't - peel off. And I'd wanted an explanation.

I'd wanted a reason. Someone to blame.

And the box's contents had delivered just that.

But how could I have been prepared to find that the guilt was my own?

Without a moment's thought, I gathered all the papers I'd strewn around earlier, before calling my supplier, and I stuffed them back inside the wretched box.

I tossed it all violently in the fireplace, as if I could just as easily cast off its contents and burn their existence, the truth in them.

How I wished I could. Just obliterate all evidences of my sins, both voluntary and the ones I hadn't even been aware of.

I wished my life was a canvas I could paint over. That I could drown a cloth in paint thinner and erase the dark marks of the grief I'd caused.

A match held to one of the ends of the feeble cardboard structure was enough. In seconds, orange flames engulfed the paper, and the smell of heavy smoke briefly filled the room before it found its way up the chimney.

And all that were left were the ashes everything had been reduced to.

I walked out still holding the small bag and steeled myself, gulping a breath, before entering my father's bedroom again.

It was still just as it had been.

The bed was unmade.

They'd taken the sheets to be processed, before the autopsy.

Turning my back on it and trying to ignore my father's absence, I faced the vanity and emptied the bag's contents. Round bottles of colorful pills rolled out, and I caught them, one by one, aligning them in front of me.

This was not something I - or anyone - would want to screw up, so I'd have to make it count.

The first two bottles of pills I'd procured were, essentially, harmless if taken in the right dosages, if not for the small matter of being extremely addictive. The third one, however, was filled with perfectly innocent anti-histamines that my dealer had been surprised, but all too delighted, to get for me.

My plan's simplicity was its main advantage.

Downing the two first bottle of pills was, really, all it would take to make sure my heart stopped beating within the hour, but there were too many risks associated with this. The body has mechanisms to defend itself against an overdose, one of which, and most important of all, is throwing up.

I did not want this.

I wanted it to be quick and I wanted it to be seamless.

I didn't want to be found by a concerned neighbor in a couple of days only to realize that I still had a pulse and could be saved - or, worse, had damaged my nervous system beyond repair but could stay alive, attached to a machine, sharing the cognitive abilities of a lettuce.

That's where the anti-histamines played an important part, as this nice drug would keep me from throwing up entirely.

I stared at my reflection in the vanity's mirror, but didn't recognize myself.

My motives were anything but selfless. I didn't want to live. It wasn't a stretch to say that no one would miss me, that no one needed me. With Charlie gone, there was no family. Alexis and Brian were the only two close friends I had left to speak of and, after Alexis left for South Africa, Brian and I had drifted apart, too many years of my ignoring his feelings finally becoming too much for him to bear.

I imagined it would take a while for my body to get discovered, a random musing that didn't sadden me.

It was almost poetic, that I should kill myself in the same room my father had died in.

It would be easy, simple, painless; I'd simply fall asleep forever.

It was almost too good, too painless; I deserved more pain for what I did. I deserved to suffer.

I unscrewed the caps of the pill bottles and found myself actually craving the little bubbles of chemical bliss; I'd taken them many times before for recreational purposes.

I poured part of the contents of the first one in my left hand, but caught my reflection in the mirror, yet again.

I was crying, but not for myself.

What was I doing?

Was this really how it would end?

After all Charlie had taught me, was I really going to surrender myself to the ultimate form of cowardice, only to be found dead and shrugged off as a junkie?

Was that really his legacy?

I had to do the hard thing. I had to do the hardest thing.

Taking another look at the child in the mirror, I picked up all of the bottles and took them to the bathroom, where I flushed their contents down the toilet.

Yes. I would do the hard thing, even if it was just that.

I would stay alive and figure out what Charlie would have wanted me to do.

~*~

"You've been smoking."

I didn't answer Edward's statement, choosing to get in the car instead. It was true, after all; I'd smoked my way through two packs in one night, hardly able to sleep.

"I thought you'd quit," he insisted, probing, prying, tentative, as perhaps his animal instincts spoke to him of what his mind could not unveil.

"I did," I finally answered, fiddling with the playlist, disliking it all. "But smoking is a hard habit to kick."

I was only half-lying. It is a hard habit to kick - but I was done with it. I'd been done with it before last night.

"It's terrible for your health, Bella; I knew that if you kept those cigarettes around long enough it would come to this."

"And I'm sure the passive smoking will damage your useless lungs, too," I quipped, growing uneasy and wishing I could smoke again. I grabbed a cigarette and started twirling it between my fingers, instead.

"No, but it bothers me on another level," he argued, softer, and I was forced to look into his subdued eyes. They looked caramel in the morning light, frozen solid. "I want - _I need - _you to be safe. And it alters your scent. I don't like it."

"I thought you'd enjoy the break," I remarked.

"No. I like your scent the way it is. It's unique, a manifestation of who you are."

After shifting gear, his right hand went to sweetly massage my neck and I relented, silent, staring out the windshield.

_I need to tell him._

I wanted to tell Edward about Charlie so very badly, but the words turned to bitter ash in my mouth as I tried to piece them together and, before long, we were out of the car and walking to separate classes.

I didn't hear a word.

I tried to draw but my hands were shaking and even my inner vision was blurred.

"Bella?"

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised to see him walking right next to me as I headed to my second class.

"Jasper," I breathed, and saw the grimace on his face. "No... I'm not afraid, I'm just... surprised, that's all," I tried to tell him, tried to make him understand.

Because he wasn't the cause of the swirling darkness within me, and he was in enough pain as it was without my proximity.

"I know you're not afraid," he whispered back, an inkling of a smile on his face, and an infinite softness swimming in the eyes that were never quite golden. "Not of me, in any case. I just wanted to talk to you, without Edward present. Alice is distracting him as we speak."

"What is it?" I choked out. I didn't want this. I didn't want him digging through my emotions.

"I just wanted to tell you that Edward cares for you much more deeply than you might imagine. He'd never judge you. The guilt, the grief, the pain, are things I can feel with you, but I'm not the one you should share them with."

_Guilt._

_How can I tell your brother that he's the part of the reason I feel guilty? That I've never felt as if I deserve the happiness he's given me, the love he's shown? That I can't believe in a tomorrow for the both of us?_

"I can only promise I'll try."

Jasper sent me a blissful wave of calm as he walked away, but this forced emotional break wasn't strong enough to lend me clarity.

"Bella, why are you staring at that calendar? What's bothering you this much?"

My head snapped up and, not knowing how, I found myself in my kitchen, holding my dinner - a bowl of cold soup - and sitting across from a very concerned Edward.

I wanted to _lie._

But Jasper was right. If I was to tell anyone, it should be Edward. Even if just to make him understand what was going on with me, what I had gone through and was still in the midst of.

And, after a long silence, the words came.

"It's December," I choked out, opting for the truth that turned my bones to brittle ice. "Tomorrow is December 2nd. The one year anniversary of my father's death."

I wished I could explain it to him - how much it was affecting me. I wish I could show him the images that kept replaying inside my head, and at once was at peace that he'd never have to see them.

"I'm so sorry, Bella."

I closed my eyes, willing the tears his concern and empathy evoked to dry in my eyes.

"I was not a good daughter," I whispered, staring at the calendar once more, seeing Charlie's chicken scratch as he documented the events with the excitement of a new father.

Of a committed, loving father.

I dropped the bowl of soup inside the sink and started making some tea.

Edward just waited, a silent and solemn presence at my kitchen table, until I started talking again.

"We were in Italy, one autumn. I was sixteen. Everything was just as it had been when, out of the blue, Charlie cut the trip short and we went back to London. No explanation, nothing.

"You might not understand the shock this was for me... But Charlie was all I had, all I ever had, my one constant, my best friend. Everything and everyone else in my life was transitory. And when he yelled at me, refusing to explain what was happening, that was a first. It broke me. All those years I had stability, I was happy, because I _knew _I could count on him no matter what and that we talked about everything. No secrets.

"Until I found out he was keeping something from me.

"I was determined enough to investigate our accounts, see if I could find a reason why we had to hurry back to London. I found an unusual withdrawal from when we were in Naples, a quarter of a million dollars, and checked with our financial managers. They didn't know what had happened or what the money was for - only that my father had wanted it available immediately.

"I gave him time to tell me what had happened. I hoped he would. I knew there had to be an explanation. But, when, months later, he'd showed no signs of meaning to tell me anything, I started to wonder not only what this secret could be - but how long he'd been keeping it.

"I lost it. I started acting out. I..."

I stopped to check Edward's expression; he looked worried and pained, just as I was about what I was going to tell him.

"Those two years before my father's death were, as I told you before, my rebellious stage. It started off as going out at night, something I'd never been a fan of, and it escalated to... almost getting arrested several times, for one. It was too much. Too many parties, too much alcohol... too many pills," I forced myself to say, knowing there was no way I could make it sound good. It wasn't. It was the ugly truth of my past, and Edward had been brave enough to share his first.

"I finally confronted Charlie, one day, but he never said anything. He never... "

My throat closed up, physically restraining my words. I busied myself with filling the teacup and getting the teabag, trying to buy myself time.

What would have happened to the both of us if Charlie had told me?

I'd never know.

"After his death," I pressed on, trying to detach myself from what I was saying so I could get through it, "I was given a box full of papers Charlie had kept at a bank, in a safe. A box full of letters. The first one was from Renee."

Edward's whole expression changed to stark surprise after that, and I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, with difficulty.

"By the date, I was about nine when she first wrote. Saying she regretted ever leaving us. That she'd gotten trapped dealing with bad people... and that she needed help so she could come back to us. That she needed money. Which Charlie sent.

"I think... he believed her," I choked out. "But, of course, as you know, Renee didn't come back. But she did send more letters for money, which I believe Charlie didn't answer.

"It's not hard to figure out that she somehow got wind of the inheritance and decided she wanted a piece. When it became clear my dad was through with her lies... She switched tactics and wrote him another letter. Threatening to file for custody and have him arrested for child abduction if he didn't send her the money."

The words were like bitter poison coating my tongue, and gulping the hot tea didn't help.

"But that doesn't make any sense," Edward protested. "Renee was the one who left you, she had no grounds to file for custody, much less accuse him of abducting you."

"She wouldn't have," I whispered, my voice a ghost of itself. "If Charlie was my biological father."

I'd willed the tears away, but saying it out loud stung more than I could have ever imagined.

Understanding dawned on the vampire's face.

"Did Charlie know?" he asked.

I nodded.

"The DNA test was there, in the box, dated several years back. I don't know what tipped him off... We weren't very similar, physically, or maybe he even knew Renee had had an affair."

I paused, gripping the mug hard enough to worry about it shattering, and stopped, thinking of what the blood could do if I cut myself.

"Either way, Charlie was scared enough to send her the money. That was also about the time we left for London, changed our surnames."

"He was trying to protect you," Edward whispered.

"Always," I rasped out in response. _Always. _"There were some more letters from Renee... I think Charlie was saving them in case he did have to defend himself in front of a judge, one day. Then there's a copy of a letter he wrote, saying he was through. That I would soon be of age and that her blackmail wouldn't work. That he wouldn't pay her another dime.

"Renee's next letter is postmarked Naples. She followed us there. In it, she said she knew where we were staying. That she'd find me, tell me everything.

"I'll never know... if Charlie never meant for me to find out, or if he just didn't want me to find out that way. It doesn't matter. Either way... he paid her off and dragged me back to London."

"How could it not hurt you?" Edward pointed out. "That your own mother used you as a bargaining chip... And that your father never told you the truth before he died?"

"No!" I countered, angry. "Of course that's not what it is about. I couldn't care less about what Renee did or didn't do, I'd never expect nothing but the worst from her. And Charlie - Charlie was defending me the whole time. Protecting me from knowing I was the bastard child of Renee and some low-life like her. Protecting me from having to go off with her in case they ever did get in front of a judge and things went south. And maybe he kept it from me because he thought... I might hate him for it."

How could he have thought that?

How could Charlie have thought I could ever leave him for a woman that meant _nothing_ to me?

"Those two years... I did my worst. I did my worst because I didn't care anymore, because I was angry at being betrayed and even angrier that I was being shut down. I did my worst... to _myself _because I knew how much it would hurt Charlie to witness my self-destruction. I did it all on purpose."

"You didn't know," Edward voiced.

"But I should have," I whispered, not caring if all the ways in which I was broken were too obvious, painful and raw. "I should have known that whatever it was he was keeping a secret, he was doing so for _my _sake. I loved my father with strength larger than my own, but I was not a good daughter. _I killed him."_

The words excruciatingly clawed its bloody way up my throat in self-inflicted pain.

Edward looked terrified as the weight of my words hit him, but didn't say anything, shock and disbelief taking hold of him as he waited for me to give him an explanation that would make it all better.

Only that didn't exist.

"I read the autopsy report. In it, they ruled my father's death an accident... due to mixing two drugs, one for his back pain, one for his heart. I didn't even know he was taking something for his heart... But I never believed it was an accident."

"What else could it be, Bella?"

I shut my eyes.

I'd never believed it was an accident. My father was too cautious and educated to die in such a way.

"I had just turned 18 in September. Charlie knew I'd have my full access to our accounts restored in January. He must have known I'd figure it out, sooner or later. I was his daughter, after all... if only in some ways. He taught me well. The idea of telling me the truth or having me find out on my own was inconceivable, and after two years of agony over our growing distance and my mistakes and addictions and irresponsibility - my abandonment of every principle, every lesson he ever taught me... It had to have been too much."

"You believe your father killed himself?"

The shock in the question was foreign to me.

"Yes. That's what I truly believe. That he waited until I was 18," I hiccuped, "a legal adult, no longer at risk of falling into Renee's greedy hands, and that, before I could find out the truth... He killed himself. Because of me."

"That's insane," Edward protested, shaking his head, and I wanted to break something and externalize some of the breaking I still felt within. "You can't spend the rest of your life like that, Bella. I understand mourning your father, but you can't feel guilty..."

I laughed, bitterly, humorlessly, lighting up a cigarette and burning on the edges of hysteria. Instead of talking, I started_ yelling._

"You think this is about _me_? That this is about how much I miss my father, of much I _need _him?! Of how lonely and dark this past year has been? It's got _nothing _to do with that, and everything to do with how my father, a boy _my age_, took care of a six month old baby that wasn't even his in a way that no one could have expected him to! He gave up _everything_ for me. He worked to put a roof over my head and he gave me the world long before there was an inheritance. He was a gifted, brilliant man that never got to go to college because of me. He never got to find love, settle down, be in a happy marriage, have a child of his own. He could have had all that and he gave it up for me!

"Me. The child that turned her back on him at sixteen, ungrateful and selfish when all he ever did..."

My voice and my anger lost their strength to grief and were drowned out with sobs. Edward didn't get up from his seat at the table, letting me be as I got a grip on my emotions.

After long minutes of oppressive silence, my voice returned, but it felt like someone else's.

"I was not a good daughter. And maybe I was able to accept your past so well because, if there is such a thing as a proverbial scale, my sins weigh heavier. You might have murdered assassins and rapists, but I murdered a good man. I murdered my father."

"Bella, please stop doing this to yourself..." my pale boyfriend begged, in horror.

"Haven't you ever considered that I might be deserving of death? That... that first day in the cafeteria, you might have truly been there to deliver my worthy punishment?"

"I never considered such a thing, and I never will. You don't deserve to die, and I _didn't _kill you..."

"Maybe this cursed blood that runs through my veins... This blood that has no relation to my one true parent, but to a lineage I have no interest of belonging to, was designed to appeal to you, indeed."

Finally, Edward had had enough, and he got up sharply, walking to my side.

"Stop, Bella. Just stop, now. I won't hear it, because it's not true. I will not sit here and listen as you twist the very first time I met you into something it wasn't and was never meant to be. Please. Just tell me what will help."

He brushed my fingers with his in a contact that wasn't imposing or suffocating, but maybe a tangible reminder that I was not alone.

But I was too exhausted - emotionally and otherwise - and simply told him I needed to go to bed.

I turned my back on him and walked up the steps, thinking of the months after my father's death, as I dealt with my decision of honoring his memory and turning my life around. Of acknowledging my addictions and dealing with them, on my own, as I believed it should be.

I'd stopped going out altogether. I'd stopped being the kind of person who thought there was nothing wrong with waking up at two pm. And, at last, I'd fulfilled my last promise, searching for the thread of guidance that would keep me afloat, by coming back to Forks.

Buried in covers, my crying body succumbed to my shot nerves and I caved into oblivion, the gaping emptiness of it all swallowing me whole.

It didn't matter whether I was trying to honor Charlie or not. Nothing could bring him back. Nothing made a difference.

When I woke up the next morning, my whole body seemed to mirror the sickness I felt within, and I was more than a little worse than I'd been the night before.

I was more than a little scared. I was more than a little regretful.

Edward was a part of my life that hadn't been tainted with all of my secrets, things that the petty gossips at school couldn't even dream of, because their worlds were nothing but magazine covers and fruity lip gloss.

But now he knew everything of importance. I hadn't told him I'd almost put an end to my own life, but that would serve no purpose: those thoughts were behind me.

The reality that I was still alive while my father was not was the one crushing element I'd never get over.

And now, he knew.

I stared at the ceiling, recognizing the fact that he'd probably spend the next weeks - if not months - treating me with kid gloves, which I hated. There was no telling of how the revelations had damaged his view of me, his view of us.

I heard the shuffling of feet outside my door, but that didn't alarm me; I knew immediately it was him, probably to check I was still on the right side of the line that marks one's sanity.

"Bella, may I come in? I know you're awake," Edward whispered on the other side of the heavy door, and I turned to look at it, elbows supporting my upper body.

He opened the door slowly and came in, looking me over.

"Did you stay here all night?"

"Not in your room," he clarified, and our recent spat seemed so small in the face of this grim anniversary, though it was good to know he'd respected my will. "But yes. I stayed here for most of the night."

And I didn't know what to tell him, because I didn't feel any better.

"There's something I want to show you and, if you don't like it, I promise I'll put everything back."

My eyebrows scrunched up at this, but it made me get up and wrap myself in a blanket.

Together, we padded out of my bedroom, and as soon as we were in the corridor, I knew what he meant.

_The walls._

Top to bottom, they were both lined with framed photos. Some of them featured only me in various ages, locations, activities and moods; but most of them were of me and Charlie, the oldest one I spotted being one where he was bathing a baby version of me in our old bathroom sink.

For all that I'd kept the albums and scrapbooks as sacred reminders of happier times that wouldn't return, I hadn't actually been able to look at the photos since my father's death, and to see them displayed through my house just about broke me all over again.

I walked through the corridor and down the steps to the living room, where the effect had been reproduced. All different sizes, the frames formed a colorful puzzle of my young life, happiness and love staring at me from all angles.

Carefully monitoring my reaction, Edward finally decided to speak.

"Yesterday, I decided to stay and keep watch over you, and I was just looking through your books when I saw your albums, in the bookcase. All these pictures, along with Charlie's notes, made me understand you, and your father, so much better. To see you through his eyes in the pictures he took blew me away.

"There's love and devotion in every single frame, every syllable he used. The same kind of devotion that you've showed me every time you spoke of him, and that I couldn't truly understand until a few hours ago."

Hot tears flooded my face at his words and I kept spinning to see the photos as I reeled.

"This... this care, this undying love you feel for him, is an exact mirror of the way he loved you. You know this; you can still see it around you now, Bella. And you were right, your father truly was the man who would do anything to protect you. Anything for you.

"That's why I believe he was not done with you. That the only reason why he guarded the secret that stoically was because he wanted a chance at mending things, making them right. I believe that a tragic accident took him away from you before he could do just that. And that he would never put you through the pain of losing him. That he would never leave you willingly."

I felt his hands over my shoulders and his kiss on my hair as I let my back, heaving with gasping tears, settle against his chest.

"Do you really believe that?" I had to ask, flooded with memories of the times I hadn't even fully allowed myself to relieve in spirit, thinking I was unworthy of even that much.

"Yes. Why else would I have recruited my family to get me every available frame they could by this morning?"

A part of me warmed at the thought.

"The question is," Edward continued, his soft touches helping as the crying ebbed, "do you?"

I pulled his arms around me as I grasped at what to say, but nothing came as I continued to stare.

I didn't have the words to thank him for what he did; I hoped he'd understand my silent gratitude then, as I swore to myself I'd one day be able to voice just how much it meant to me - to be reminded of what my relationship with my father had truly been like.

And because Edward's warm words spoke of a man that I recognized undeniably as Charlie.

My one true parent.

I decided that day that my worst disservice to his memory would be to overlook all the happy years we had, all the things he taught me, all the things we lived through together.

Putting the cigarettes away for good, I sought comfort in memories that kept me whole; no longer destructive, but a comforting reminder that the love between my father and myself had always ran deeper and stronger than anything else.

Even blood.


	21. Bloody Murder Part I

**A/N: Hey everyone! I know it's been a while since I last posted an update, but real life just has to come first. I hope everyone enjoys what is to come.**

**This is just the first part of the chapter; part II will be posted in a couple of days.**

**I can't thank **_**Pippapear **_**enough for her help, support and wonderful friendship.**

**Enjoy!**

The days that followed were very long.

I found myself making a greater effort not to let myself sink into the dark; I had Edward to keep me afloat, and, strangely enough, I carried the responsibility of keeping him afloat as well.

Or we'd both spiral downward and inward, maybe to never return.

The grim December weather had grown heavy and stormy, bathing the whole of Forks with a strange glow, the very opposite of light; my canvas reflected the murkiness of the surroundings and my own spirits.

I busied myself with translating old black and white drawings into oil, telling myself that the life and light strictly necessary for creation were shut inside me.

That was a lie.

I was simply too afraid and yet too guilt-ridden to let them bubble to the surface; I had no idea what images my mind might conjure.

Flashes of the past were much too painful; glimpses of the future seemed unreachable and undeserved.

And my vampire was there through it all, sitting with a book in his hand, keeping his face expressionless as he saw me go through black and white oils at an alarming speed.

I was putting the finishing touches on a small landscape, featuring our own high school, when I felt him behind me, cold breath gushing over my shoulder. I felt the spark of his proximity all throughout my body, and fought to keep my reactions in check.

My hair was wild and spilling forth as I bent down to paint; he swept it back with soft, caring fingers and tied it securely.

Turning slightly, I could see our reflection on the vanity's mirror; with matching skin and purple bruises under our eyes, a black and white pair as well, except for the blood red strand of silk he'd tied my hair with.

"Is it any better?" he finally asked me, the only reference to my past since the pictures were hung. His voice was so low I believed he was merely voicing a thought.

I took a deep breath.

"Has it ever gotten any better for you? Have their faces, their thoughts, their tears, their screams ever left you?"

My comeback was obviously shocking; wounded he staggered back to sit on my bed, with wild and disbelieving eyes.

"It's not even remotely the same," was his strained reply.

"You followed your nature, followed what you thought was right in the face of a world that had been stripped of everything you once loved and cherished. You were responsible for the loss of life. You were also wrong, and in seeing that lies your greatest source of pain. How is that unlike me?"

"I've told you before - Charlie's death was not your fault, I'm certain of it. And I thought I'd helped you with believing that, too."

I'd hurt him, I knew; in more ways than one. I'd upturned his own past to make a point, selfish and rash. I'd made him feel as if all his efforts were for naught.

"There will never be a way for me to be sure, and anything short of it... makes way for doubt, which, no matter how small, is crushing. And even if it didn't exist - even if it truly was an accident - I would still be mourning my father."

The enormity of the loss would never be washed away, no matter what. Time had no say in the matter, and neither did I.

I went to sit by him on my bed, regretting all the things that simultaneously drew us so much closer and so farther away. And wishing, from the core of my being, that it was all simpler.

"Do you believe I have a soul, Bella?"

His question truly surprised me; for all the things I'd wondered about, for all I'd questioned, that I had never had any doubts about.

"If I have one, then so do you."

"I don't believe in it. I didn't - I still don't know if I do," he rushed through the words, almost incoherent, for once. "But I am capable of love. I might be too selfish to let you live a life without my own shadows to carry on top of yours, but, by God, I do love you."

I let my eyes linger over his troubled face as my heart wrapped itself around his truth.

And the dialog between our bodies took over, our breaths mingling as I reached for his neck, pulling myself closer and kissing him.

I wanted to brush my lips over his and let my touch talk of what was etched inside my skin - branded with ink time would never wash off or eat away at.

For it was stronger than anything; even me.

I noticed, as I deepened the kiss, how he wouldn't touch me - for his hands were occupied, clawing at my bedspread.

Always controlling himself.

I wouldn't know how to do the same; I didn't even attempt it.

I found my fingers wound into his hair and against the sharp ridges of his back, exploring as we shared breaths and wet open-mouthed kisses that were maddening in their forbidden pleasure.

Only once did I lose all sense of boundary, slipping my tongue over his teeth and causing him to pull back, hissing in alarm.

But I wasn't about to give up.

With the persistence of flesh and want, I wore Edward's walls down at an alarming speed, now pulling his lips and his tongue into my own mouth and listening to the rustling sounds of ragged breath and the abused fabric.

Ever so slowly, he allowed himself to be pushed against the bed until his forearms supported him. I relished in the contact against his strong chest, broad and solid in spite of its frozen youth, and thought of nothing else.

There was beauty even in the pleading nature of his kisses - of his touches, when he did give in and cupped my face, pulling me closer. He pleaded with his cold, adoring mouth for me to never stop or pull back. He pleaded me with his eyes not to taunt him further, not to put myself at risk.

I silently apologized for the pain my proximity caused him. And if there was even an ounce of fear in me, I would have heeded the warning of the swirling black and gold in his eyes.

But there was not.

I settled for the in between: for the comfort of touches and kisses that would not push the imaginary boundary Edward believed we should not cross.

As soon as he could feel it - my acceptance of our condition and my respect for the difficulties he experienced, difficulties I could never understand myself - miraculously, I could feel him relax in my arms, a strong breath of scented relief rushing out of his mouth and into my lungs.

Just then, we heard ringing.

The shrill sound pierced the thick membrane that separated us from all shred of reality, but I fought to keep it up and intact, ignoring it; in a few seconds, it would stop.

The cell phone kept ringing in the background, oblivious to the interruption it was causing and how much I wanted it to implode and degrade itself into meaningless particles, suspended in silence, letting us be.

But then, Edward's joined it.

The boy himself pulled back, almost comically annoyed, and picked it up, flipping it open and pushing it to his ear in one fluid motion.

"What is it, Alice?" he barked, not even trying to be polite while exhaling through his nose in a poor attempt to keep his anger in check. In a couple of seconds, his eyebrows had knitted together and he motioned me to pick up my own phone while still listening to his sister.

I gave the caller ID a brief look, and, seeing it was Angela, I felt some of the annoyance melt away.

"Hello?" I answered, leaning against the vanity and watching, confused, as Edward started pacing my room and hissing on his phone.

_"Bella! I'm so sorry to keep calling you, I know you were probably asleep..."_

"I wasn't," I corrected, still observing my boyfriend and trying to deduct what was happening. "Is everything okay?"

My question, albeit absentmindedly, was to the point.

I heard an intake of breath on the other end of the line.

_"It's Mike,"_I heard her say. _"He's disappeared. He went on a trip to Port Ludlow with his parents; they were visiting family for Christmas. Mrs. Newton called my mother just a few minutes ago, no one knows where he is and they're scared."  
_  
Edward was still pacing and avoiding direct eye contact.

"When did they notice him missing? Does anyone have more information? Has anyone been able to reach him?"

I was trying to get her rational self back in charge and find out more about the situation. This wasn't enough to go on.

I briefly wondered if being the late chief of police's daughter could still get me some clout around here if I so admitted, but thought it very unlikely.

_"He supposedly wandered off while they were shopping - it must have been only a couple of minutes before his parents started looking for him. His cell phone is off, and everyone is starting to panic. It's been a few hours."_

"Panicking won't help matters any - it's _only_been a few hours, Angela. Maybe he just decided to sneak out and do some shopping by himself or something of the sort," I offered as a possible explanation, as an attempt to get her to calm down, more than anything else.

Try as I may, it was fruitless; the girl seemed too scared and I could offer her no comfort other than to assure her I'd talk to Carlisle, see if any of his connections could help.

She thanked me and asked me how long I was planing to stay awake; I assured her she could call at any hour.

By the time we both hung up, Edward was in front of me, a mask of serious dread over his face.

"That was Angela," I informed him, suspecting he hadn't been keeping tabs on my conversation as well as his own. "It seems Mike disappeared today. Do you think Carlisle can pull some strings, maybe talk to the local police?"

"Alice saw him; it's too late for that. Mike Newton is dead."

It took a few minutes for his words to sink in, and I asked him to repeat all he knew.

It wasn't much; his sister had seen the boy dead, and there were a few useful details about where it had occurred.

I knew enough to acknowledge that Alice's gift had its shortcomings: her visions were spontaneous, sudden, and often incomplete.

"Does she know how he died?"

My asking wasn't out of morbid curiosity; I had recently learned that there were stronger and more powerful creatures to fear than the worst of humans, and my mind was not at ease.

"No; she didn't see anything but his... remains," he whispered, as if to soften the blow.

I pondered how to ask this next question without implying any accusation but realized, not without dismay, that it could hardly be prevented:

"If she had seen something - if she had predicted his death, whichever the cause - you would have acted on it, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," Edward guaranteed, carefully monitoring my reaction for signs of distress.

We were barely two weeks into December, and certainly the wounds were too fresh to be forgotten. But if one of the feelings usually experienced in the face of death is, invariably, powerlessness, in this case we had an advantage, for there was something to be done.

Twenty four hours were enough to convince everyone that something was very wrong. Small as it is, Forks' community still managed to produce a surprisingly large group of people ready to take the two hour trip to Port Ludlow and organize search parties.

For obvious reasons, minors and high school students in general were strictly forbidden by the police of taking part in the searches; with a lot of tact and persuasion, Edward and I were allowed to tag along with Carlisle. The rest of the family stayed behind, promising to come after us at a moment's notice, but unable to do much else.

Because Alice was broken.

Rosalie was a whirlwind of worry in the shape of red hot fury, while Emmett and Esme desperately tried to get Alice to calm down and realize that it wasn't her fault. That none of it could ever be her fault.

But only Jasper could succeed in calming her, too worried about her spirit to ever leave her side as she stressed and stretched herself over the limit, trying to get a glimpse of something - anything that would help, no matter how everyone knew her visions simply couldn't be forced.

At first, I thought it unlikely Edward would think my joining the expedition a good idea - but, on the contrary, it seemed to please him immensely. I soon realized why: in the face of potential danger, keeping me around was the best possible way for him to protect me.

In the past, I would have been offended by the notion; I would have made clear that I was perfectly able to fend for myself.

Now, I just knew it wasn't so.

Uncharacteristically, Carlisle insisted on driving just as we were about to leave, and I could sense a silent conversation brewing between him and his eldest son. This lasted for about forty-five minutes into the trip before Edward finally gave up.

"I think it's a bad idea, Carlisle. Do as you wish, of course - but I don't think it's the right course of action."

"May I ask what's being discussed?" I intervened, tired of racking my brain for an explanation for this sudden tension between the two.

Edward eyes locked on mine, and then on his father. He hesitated for a moment before filling me in.

"Carlisle thinks we should alert the Quilleutes, in case we find that Mike's death was at the hands of... a supernatural entity," he explained.

"Why should they be alerted?" I asked.

Carlisle was the one to explain:

"Shifters are one of the vampires' natural enemies. Our family, though, has a long withstanding treaty with the Quilleutes: as long as we don't harm humans and keep away from their land, our secret is safe and there will be no hostility."

I mulled this over for a few seconds. Finally Jacob's claim made sense: the Cullens weren't allowed on La Push because of these conditions.

"Unfortunately, this fragile arrangement is weaker than ever," he continued, exhaling disapproval. "Which is exactly why this is no time to be keeping anything from them when one of the children of Forks turns up dead."

Edward's lips were pursed as he stared straight ahead.

"What happened?"

"I broke the treaty," my boyfriend admitted.


	22. Bloody Murder Part II

**A/N: Hello, everyone! As promised, the second part of the chapter is up.**

**It has come to my attention that there were some changes to the text's format, specifically the breaks that outlined the flashbacks, which are now gone. I'm terribly sorry if it took away from the experience of reading thus far, and promise to go back and correct it all.**

**Pippapear has always been so much more than an amazing friend, and yet there's an infinite sweetness in being able to refer to her as such.**

_"I broke the treaty," my boyfriend admitted.  
_  
He most certainly hadn't harmed anyone - which left only one other possibility. I had no idea _why_Edward had risked going to La Push, but, as eager as I was to find out, I knew that to be a conversation best had between the two of us.

"And you could very well have started a _war_."

Carlisle wasn't being strict or harsh - it didn't fit in with his nature. But the one thing he cared the most for in the world, his family, had been threatened; that crossed even the good doctor's limits.

I sat quietly through the rest of the tense journey, letting my mind drift to the practical aspects of the searches.

That rainy night, concerned townspeople of Forks and Port Ludlow conveyed at a landmark diner to go over the plans with the law enforcement officers. Arriving early, we weren't surprised to see dozens and dozens gradually filling up the place to its capacity and beyond, expressions packed with hope and dread in various amounts.

It was pitch dark outside the warm diner when Mr and Mrs Newton finally came in, with all the nervous energy, anxiety and desperation of parents that had lost their baby.

It broke my heart to see them suffer.

But, worse, it broke my heart to see them hope, for I knew there was nothing good to hope for. And I wished then that I could pull them aside and tell them the truth, as much as I wished for the truth to be delayed as much as humanly possible.

Maps were taken out and laid out over tabletops. Heated discussions about where the boy had disappeared and where he was most likely to be found were had amongst the eldest and wisest, and those who somehow inserted themselves in one of the two categories.

A muted voice suggested the searches should be conducted as if the boy was already dead. Edward and Carlisle stayed silent and stoic as blocks of stone with piercing eyes, observing as the roar of outrage swept the small establishment and a table was thrown over. From my advantage point, I couldn't quite make it out, but I could almost be sure that it had been Mr Newton.

As we made our way to the small B&B that night, under windswept rain, Carlisle's mood had sunk.

"The area they mapped out for the searches tomorrow isn't anywhere near the place Alice pointed out to me... And I can't stray that far from the assigned areas. It would look too suspicious."

"We can't wait much longer," Edward pointed out. "In this weather, decay and wild animals will..."

He broke off, shifting closer to me and tugging me into a close embrace, my head under his chin and his strong arm around my shoulders as we walked, dripping, under the curved entrance to the quaint bed and breakfast.

Our stance was certainly too intimate for a public display in my boyfriend's eyes, but I felt the need for closeness radiating from his frame. The need to tuck me in his arms, frail and human as I was, and make sure I was safe, protected - that what had happened to Mike would never happen to me.

And though I knew it was perfectly irrational to feel that way, I feared for him too.

Carlisle's mouth twisted briefly in a conspiratorial smile before excusing himself to his own room; he needed to check in with the hospital and with Alice.

I was guided by Edward to a door further down the hall, and was surprised to find twin beds when it opened.

Still holding me, I felt him fidget.

"I'm guessing there were no other rooms available?" I whispered, taking in the wide window and the clean, warm-smelling room, white plaster and old wood.

"Actually, they did, I just..."

I twisted in his arms, staring up at his face, ripe with embarrassment, and pulled myself up for a languorous kiss, unsatisfied with the bulky clothes that parted us.

"Thank you," I breathed into his mouth, not quite knowing how I would cope if I had to spend the night on my own, and feeling immersed by the sweetness of the infinitely more enticing prospect of spending it with him.

And I was so very tired. I hadn't slept at all the night before - too caught up in Mike's disappearance, we'd driven to the Cullen's and were there until dawn, talking of what to do and trying to calm Alice down. And after such a long, trying day, all I could think of was resting. Just not alone - not without Edward.

I shed the heavy coat, the scarf and gloves; my sweater followed soon after, leaving me in a thin shirt, jeans and boots.

Edward's embarrassment was tainted by something else entirely as I moved to open his jacket as well, snuggling inside it in an instinctive search for comfort and warmth, even if I'd only find one of them.

If I could, I would have crawled under his skin.

Without saying another word, I half-walked, half-tugged him all the way to the bed closest to the window, lying down on the thick, almost coarse sheets that I only felt for a second - before Edward's arms were wrapped around me and his body was as close to mine as it could get, over the clothes we still had on.

"You'll be cold in the morning," he whispered to me, brushing his lips over my forehead, his only attempt at modesty. His hair was damp and smelled of rain.

"The cold would be worse without you," I answered, hoping he'd understand. Seconds later, I whispered "Why did you go to La Push?"

The vampire busied himself with my hair, twirling it in his fingers as he answered.

"Quilleutte teenagers started shifting two years ago, shortly after we moved here. I felt uneasy, that Saturday morning in October, knowing you'd be going there and having no means to warn you. I couldn't even pinpoint _why_it was so important to me, at the time. But nothing had me feeling as uneasy as when I watched you come home, looking worn and afraid and just sensing that something had happened, not having my gift to rely on. When I realized the lights just wouldn't go off in your house, the next day, it got worse. Suddenly, you left - and it was sheer panic.

"I was never proud of watching you from afar, but that night I did something not even my father can forgive me for. I followed you to La Push and I did not breathe until I saw you come up for air and get back to the car. And even though no one from the pack - no one at all, in fact - was close by... I needed to be there and make sure you got home safely. I'm so very sorry for taking advantage of _what_I am and violating your privacy and space."

The sincere admission and apology rang through my bones; Edward was genuinely dreading my reaction, as justified as it was - for he had followed me, _seen me_as naked and raw as could be. I'd been dripping wet and freezing, fighting with myself and my fears not to leave Forks after Jacob recognized me.

But, at the moment, it did not matter.

The heart of the matter was he'd left behind thoughts of his own safety - and his family's - and thought only of me, at that moment. How unselfishly had he prioritized the selfish want, desire, _need_ for my safety, for my well being, my very existence.

I understood it well. I felt it too.

Just then, 24 hours too late, I realized, I had an admission of my own to make.

Pulling back just enough to look him in the eye, I finally told him:

"I love you, too."

My voice carried this promise strongly, and I saw it again - that brilliant, precious shade of green taking over his eyes, so fleetingly I doubted my own eyesight.

Exhaustion took over me as I twisted my body to fit his seamlessly, falling asleep contentedly in the beauty of his touch, his scent, his breath, all of which carried the warmth his body could not provide.

Morning came all too soon.

I woke up alone, my boots missing, but otherwise still dressed. Edward sat on the other bed, concerned yet loving; Carlisle had already left for the searches, since the local police had been more adamant in enforcing an age limit.

Truth was, his influence here was close to none at all. In fact, Edward had picked up on the fact that most policemen were rather intimidated by him.

At breakfast, I felt the benefits of a good night's rest, and pushed away - regretting so, but necessarily - the thoughts of the words exchanged with my boyfriend.

"What should we do today?" he asked me, forcefully chipper.

I frowned at my coffee.

"There's nothing we can do to help, Bella, we might as well try and get it all out of our minds, for a couple of hours."

My frown deepened. It was something he said.

"There's not necessarily true," I countered.

"What do you mean?"

Edward looked up, confused, as I gulped the rest of my coffee and moved to leave the nearly deserted breakfast room.

"Alice saw where Mike is. She never said anything about who would find him."

"But it can't be us..." he whispered as we got up, catching on to my train of thought. "How suspicious would it be? We can't atract that kind of attention, you know that."

"It's every bit as suspicious as Carlisle finding him. You said it yourself, the sooner the better," I argued, already slipping into my coat. "I want to do this. I want to give his parents peace of mind. They deserve to know."

Edward pursed his lips but didn't fight me; Alice called as we made our way there, giving us a cover story that involved a nearby hiking trail. I was spared from actually seeing the body, as all I had to do was wait in the car while my vampire took my boots and his time engineering a perfect set of twin trails through the middle of the woods before calling the police.

And no one suspected anything.

We were all but ushered out of there, spared the questions and the scolding since everyone understood how traumatized we probably were after finding our dead classmate.

It was late at night when Carlisle joined us at the B&B, looking somber and, it if were possible, tired. Every second of his hundreds of years walking the Earth seemed to take its tow on him at once, and he looked like the ancient vampire I so seldom thought of him as.

"Carlisle..." Edward warned, impatient. His father was undoubtedly blocking his ability. "What did you find?"

"Official cause of death was exsanguination. I worked closely with the local coroner. He was pretty shaken," the blond doctor revealed, sitting across from me and my boyfriend in our small room. "Enough so to happily delegate the task of examining the wounds. I declared it the result of an animal attack."

Edward's back straightened infinitesimally, and I knew something was wrong.

"And unofficially?" I asked, the only one in the room who still had any doubts about how Mike Newton had died.

"He was killed by vampires who couldn't even be bothered to properly dispose of the body. The shape of the bite marks told me they were at least two. The attack itself... was very violent. Savage, even."

None of us said another word for a very long time. Edward held me tightly in his arms the whole night, and he was still in my bed when I woke up.

Michael Newton's wake and funeral were a sad affair.

The whole town had been scared to find him missing, but shocked beyond belief that he'd been found dead.

Angela, having known him since kindergarten, insisted on attending; I decided to accompany her for support.

The Cullen family was also there, and to see all of them made me realize what they had, in fact, began to mean to me, for I knew their show of support was more towards myself than the dead boy's family. It would never feel the same as having Charlie's support, for my bond to him could never be replaced or reproduced, but it still felt reassuring to know someone was there for me during a moment of need.

The oppressive weather predicted a storm which, combined with the flickering half-light provided by candles, shrouded the chapel in an uneasy atmosphere. Angela was already there, looking very pale in her black clothes, and holding Ben's hand very tightly.

"Thank you for being here," she whispered to me, and I just nodded, leaving her for a second so I could pay Mr and Mrs Newton my respects.

I knew from experience just how little those words meant, especially after being repeated to exhaustion. Still, I made myself walk towards the broken couple and looked straight into Mr Newton's blue eyes rimmed in red while I uttered them.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss."

The mother covered her mouth and nodded, unable to give an answer, sobbing as quietly as she could.

"They told me... you were the ones who found him. I wanted... to thank you," was Mr Newton's choked acknowledgement, directed at me and Edward.

I clenched my fists, shaking, looking at the man and knowing he was thanking me for a lie. A lie that had given him closure and peace of mind, but still, a _lie_. The Newtons would never know how their son really died, and I felt bile rising to the back of my throat at the thought.

That's why I simply nodded before walking away and taking a seat by Angela while the rest of the Cullens paid their respects. Edward's hand was entwined with mine as I made an effort to engage the shocked girl.

Gently, I coaxed her to share stories involving Mike; Ben contributed here and there, letting himself get carried away while we tried to forget about the death and remember all the life that had been.

This was interrupted when the casket was brought in.

I realized it was happening from the stir caused outside the chapel, the shouted whispers that circled around. I wanted to prepare Angela - in reality, I even thought of a way of getting her out of there - but there was nothing I could do.

Four men carried the sealed casket, all of them somber and red with effort. Thick and heavy, silence fell over the attendees - nearly all of Forks - as the husk inside carved wood was brought in and sadly displayed.

And I watched as it dawned on Angela's mind - that inside that casket was her lifelong friend. That he was in there, lying still and frozen, forever gone and lost. That they would never share another meal, another conversation.

I watched as a part of her soul was irrevocably lost as well, and she stopped being a child. I witnessed the moment when she lost her immortality.

And I found myself mourning that, too.

There were sickeningly fragrant flowers, fake and genuine words of comfort, phrases that involved youth, waste and getting on with our lives. Jessica was among the many teenagers that attended, looking shocked and, suddenly, aged. She hadn't been able to process any of it, yet.

Jasper was faring the worst among the family, and at some point I had to leave Angela to get his attention.

"Everyone is about to leave for the burial. Maybe you should take Alice home?" I suggested.

He saw right through me, and gave me a brief smile.

"We both know she's doing much better," he pointed out, "and I'm not doing so bad myself. Sure, this is the worst setting for an empath but... Every now and then I'm able to focus just enough to lend the parents some calm. And that's enough."

He liked feeling useful. I nodded, understanding how the illusion of action and control was so important at a time like this.

"The only one eerily unaffected by all of this is Crowley," he pointed out.

I scanned the room until I saw Mike's old friend and teammate, and a quick look at his posture, decreased movement speed and overly relaxed expression sparked old memories.

"That's because he's high as a kite," I sighed.

It seemed like whole days had dragged by when we finally returned to the Cullen's. I'd wanted to invite Angela to spend the night at my place, but a quick look at Edward's face let me know that wouldn't be the best idea.

"Carlisle contacted the Quilleuttes," he explained, as we got in the warm car. "They've agreed to meet us at the house, tonight."

"Should I attend the meeting?" I asked him, selfishly wishing I didn't have to. I was exhausted. All I wanted was a long shower, and maybe the use of Edward's _chaise longue_for some sleep_. _

"Normally I would have said no, but they requested you'd be there."

I let my head fall back against the headrest. «They» were probably Jacob and Billy Black.

Sensing my mood, Edward tried everything to make it easier on me - sitting on his piano bench and pulling me to his side, depending on me to pick what I wanted to hear and showing me some of his favorites.

Insensitive to our bubble, the rest of the Cullens were unusually agitated due to the meeting, Alice and Rosalie seeming the most aggravated of all.

"I don't know why we're doing this in the first place. Those mutts will just try to pin the blame on us."

"No they won't, Rose. I've dealt with the elders in the past - they are much wiser than one might suppose. Rather than endangering the treaty, this should serve as proof of our honesty, and reinforce it," Carlisle argued.

"I hope it does - but I can't say it will. I can't be sure of anything, I hate this," Alice muttered. I looked up questioningly at Edward.

"She can't see the wolves, she never could. It just feels like this... blank her mind can't fill. It hasn't bothered her this much in the past but now, of course..." he whispered in my ear, looking distracted even as his fingers roamed the keys with an aimless harmony I knew was just flowing out of him.

I wondered if he knew how spectacular he was at creating music, beauty, art - and only then reverted to consider Alice's position and the complete unknown this meeting represented to the family.

In my defense, Edward truly was extremely distracting.

Determined that this meeting should be about joining efforts and establishing a peaceful environment of communication, Carlisle asked that, other than myself, only Jasper and Edward were present - strategic choices, taking into account their useful abilities.

"They're coming," my boyfriend announced, the first one to sense them, at a distance. "All in human form," he added, silently answering what I guessed to be his father's query.

The rest of the family cleared the living area - if one could be classified as such, considered who spent their time there - and the tension Edward had worked to keep at bay found its way through me.

In a few minutes, Carlisle was opening the door and greeting the attendees with irreproachable respect and politeness, but they made no move to venture in.

An unknown voice floated to my ears, carrying a request that the meeting be held outside.

Edward tensed slightly, but his father showed no outward signs of caring, even though I knew this was a bad start.

It was very cold outside; the lights above the entrance were turned on - mostly for my sake, I imagined - and the four of us filtered out slowly, yet anxiously.

Jacob was there, looking, if possible, even larger than last time I'd seen him. He kept his eyes on the Cullens while his hand rested at the back of an older man's wheelchair, and for a moment I didn't understand who it was.

Until it hit me.

Aged and taken over by illness, the man I barely recognized as Billy Black now looked up at me with beady eyes sunk into unhealthy skin. They held none of the caring generosity I'd once known him for, and suddenly I had a very bad feeling about all of it.

Father and son were accompanied by a young man with sharper features and the attitude of a warrior. Still, he didn't radiate half as much hostility as the other two.

I locked eyes with Jasper; he looked as uneasy as I felt.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us," Carlisle started, getting down to the order of business. "As you know, our family was responsible for finding the Newton boy."

"Who found him, exactly?" asked the young man, who had also asked to relocate the meeting and had introduced himself as Sam Uley.

"My daughter Alice saw the boy's body. Bella and Edward drove to the place and reported the finding to the authorities."

A heavy silence made itself known as my name was mentioned.

Once again, Sam was the one to question Carlisle.

"Was he killed by a vampire?"

"Yes, that was my definite conclusion. He was killed by two vampires," the doctor disclosed, sincerity ringing out of him in a spirit didn't fit the tense occasion.

"How do we know one of _you _didn't do it?" Jacob snapped, and Edward started to move. Carlisle didn't even have to look at him to discourage any form of action, and suddenly there was a blanket of calm over us all.

Jasper was hard at work trying to keep the hostility at bay - or, at least, contained.

"You have your forefather's knowledge. You know that any vampire that consumes human blood has red stained irises, which, as it can easily be verified, isn't the case in this family. We all have the utmost respect for human life and I believe that, after so many years of peace between our clans, there should be some trust on your side as well as ours."

Silence. Carlisle had played his hand well, but we all knew things could make a bad turn at any second.

Fortunately, Sam seemed very level-headed for his age.

"You're right. There is, of course, no reason to doubt any of you," he acknowledged, and cast an angry look at Jacob as he implied an apology for his behavior. "But we will be on the lookout for these vampires and, if we do get a hold of them... we will take justice into our own hands."

Carlisle nodded emphatically.

"I wouldn't have expected anything different. Alice will be on the lookout as well, and I'll contact our friends in Alaska. If we get any new information, we'll let you know."

Sam Uley nodded back, satisfied, and I breathed slightly better. It was over. The treaty seemed even stronger than before, just as Carlisle had predicted.

The Cullens were, in a figure of speech, out of the woods.

I, however, was not.

"Isabella Swan," Billy croaked, awe in his voice, directed at me. His eyes had yet to leave me throughout the conversation, and now that the dealings revolving Mike's attack were done with, it seemed I was the next topic of discussion. "I never thought I'd see you again. Where is Charlie?"

I sucked in a breath before answering.

"I came alone," I answered. The older man eyed me with incredulity and held my gaze, all traces of friendliness gone. He was making it quite clear I couldn't evade the question. "He passed away last year."

Billy's eyes widened considerably at that, before an ugly sneer took hold of him.

"He would be ashamed of seeing you among _this_kind," he spat at me, aiming to hurt.

And wounding me was especially easy, then. My armor was down, broken at my feet. I was grieving not only for Charlie, but for all that had happened - and I was honestly scared of what was to come.

Even so, I straightened my shoulders and jutted my chin out, holding my head high.

"Charlie always taught me to search for friends in unlikely places. To keep an open mind. One would think you would understand this, as Charlie Swan's daughter might walk with the vampires, but Billy Black's son runs with the wolves."

I didn't get an answer. Billy just shook his head and let Sam wheel him away.

Jacob was the last one to leave, his eyes shifting back and forth between Edward and myself, with a barely disguised expression of hatred and disgust. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel saddened at seeing the boy I used to play with in a such a light, or absence of it.

"Don't forget the treaty, Cullen. If you hurt her, I'll have your head for it."

"I would never hurt Bella," Edward assured him, strangely calm as he faced the young werewolf. It only aggravated Jacob further - as the vampire didn't seem at all intimidated.

Finally, they all got in the car and drove away. We stayed outside for as long as it took for them to leave the vampires' hearing range, which was long enough to have me shaking violently from the night's cold.

"What did he mean by you hurting me?" I asked my boyfriend as soon as I deemed it safe.

"He was thinking that, if I turned you... He would kill me for it."

It was the first time Edward had ever mentioned turning me, and I knew not what to think or how to feel about it.

I asked no more questions. I'd had as much contact with the supernatural world as I could take.

"I need to go talk to Carlisle," Edward whispered in my ear when we entered the house. I nodded, my eyes downcast, too tired to think straight.

"Do you mind if I head upstairs?"

"Please, go ahead, I'll be there in a few minutes," he sighed, probably relieved that I was staying.

The aluminum shutters were drawn over the large glass wall, and I didn't turn on any lights.

I just felt my way to the chaise longue and laid down, willing it all away.


End file.
